


J

by The_Eclectic_Reader23



Series: "The Dark Knight, The Clown Prince, The Chosen Queen" [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Based on Songs, Batman is not in this yet, Blood and Violence, Domestic Violence, Emotions, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Issues, Gang Violence, Gen, Glasgow Smile, Gotham City - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-TDK Joker, Scars, Why so serious?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Reader23/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Reader23
Summary: Before he has become the Joker, he was J.A young man with a problematic past and darkness underneath.And then, there was her to watch him destroy himself completely.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: "The Dark Knight, The Clown Prince, The Chosen Queen" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620670
Comments: 46
Kudos: 37





	1. "Love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing something new and a bit experimental ... a story based on two different songs!  
> The name of a chapter will be one verse of a song. The one that will follow through the first chapters will be my favourite ever - "Snuff" by Slipknot. The second one ... let's keep it a secret for now, shall we? 
> 
> This series are considered to be written as a character study. It's my version of events/Joker's past. Not a canon.  
> I've come up with it while listening to the song and so I decided to work on it. 
> 
> I hope you'll like it. If you do, leave kudos or a comment. I care about what you think. If you have some feedback or a critique, I'd like to hear it too. Don't be afraid to open your heart out. 
> 
> P. S. Note that I am not a native English speaker. I know, it's boring how many people say it, but I just want you to keep that in mind. If you notice some mistakes, I'd like to know. I'm trying to improve myself. 
> 
> Enjoy! :-)

She hadn't noticed the change in him at first. 

The subtle mood swings he'd shown; she considered it a product of his frustration, nothing more. He couldn't have found a job for months, and it was driving him crazy. His fast-pacing around the room they shared, while he'd mumble quietly to himself; just him making plans for future job applications and interviews. His dark eyes searching frantically for something on the wall; yet it hadn't been written there. Yet. 

J was always a bit unusual, disconnected from the world. That's what made him shine brigther, easier to spot in the large groups of people on the street. He'd always been destined for something greater, bigger than himself. The spark of his energy, the smile he seemed to have printed on his lips; that's what she was in for. 

And then, the tragedy. Two scarred cheeks which made him look like a 'freak', as people would put it. Normal people. 

The kind of those who pretend to have it all together, only to fall apart behind the closed doors. 

Those who treat everyone on the spectre of their cruelty, only to taste the tears of bitterness when it crawls its way to them. 

The ones who seemingly walk on the light, only to have darkness hidden underneath. 

* * *

His past was tormenting him. 

The visions of that same night over and over again. Yelling which never turned into apologies and sweet nothings mother used to promise him. Crashing of every possible furniture left in the already old and battered house. 

The night that has left him marked for a lifetime. 

His father, angry and drunk again, stormed into the house. He knew what was to happen; hearing him groan loudly after he found no alcohol in the kitchen cupboards, J ran upstairs and locked the door of his bedroom. 

He hated his father. He hated his mother for not standing up to him. But he hated his own disability to fight him back the most. 

J covered his ears as he heard his mother let out a scream of pain, just to follow it with desperate cries for help. She called J's name once, twice, again; so much that he wanted to erase himself and his name, destroying it and burning it to ashes till there's nothing left to remind him. 

No memories. How beautiful. How _peaceful_.

"J...!" she screamed. He jumped out of fear. 

"He won't hear you! He's a coward, same as his pathetic mother!" father yelled back. 

The sound of clapped flesh was heard, soon to be followed by the echo of a broken lamp. 

J tried his best not to cry. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but he refused to give in. 

_If you cry, you let him hurt you_ , he thought.

He was locked in for hours, long after the screaming and breaking had stopped. He glanced at the clock. It was 9pm.

His father must had gone to sleep. First he would beat the hell out of his wife, and then fall asleep on the couch in the living room, smiling in his dreams like he was not the greatest piece of shit in this world. 

J loathed him. He'd pray every day his dad doesn't come back home. J fantasised about him getting hit by a van, crushed beneath the mechanical beast, his flesh melted under the wheels, brain laying abandoned on the sidewalk while his darkred blood forms a lake around his lifeless body. 

It was a thought that put a smile on his face. Always. 

Stairs creaked silently as he made his way down to the kitchen, passing through the living room with a disgusted look on his face. His father's greasy fingerprints everywhere, his spit on the floor and thin traces of his mother's blood. The air smelled like vodka, urine and... gasoline. 

J opened the storage room: the cans of gasoline were spread on the upper shelves, some of them slightly opened and the liquid leaking out. He wrinkled his nose, closing the door and quickly locking them. He kept the key hidden in the back pocket of his jeans, tapping it twice before he came in the kitchen to see the damage made. 

Mother was cleaning the sink, still crying. J approached her and leaned in to face her. When she finally looked up at him, J could see the lines of dried blood spreading across her left cheek. Father gave her a black eye again.

"It's nothing, my dear boy", she said wearily.

J huffed. "Nothing, you say? He's doing this constantly to you. Constantly." 

He pushed past her and took cleaning cloth from her hands. He started rubbing the sink roughly. 

"But you never have courage to stand up to him. To protect me or yourself from him." 

"You know he's not bad. He just had a very hard, troubled life." 

"No, we have a hard, troubled life!" he raised his tone and punched into the sink. She flinched. 

He laughed blankly and moved onto the dishes. The silence settled between them as he kept on cleaning and rubbing the blood off; J then took the plates and tried to get the dirt off. He ignored his mother who just stood there by his side, watching his facial expressions go from silent rage to seeming reluctance and fear. 

"You have his anger", she whispered. 

J glared at her. In the moment he noticed his shadow reflecting in her eyes. He saw his darkness. 

He parted his lips to say something, but eventually gave in. Nodding at her, he turned away and left the kitchen. Snoring was heard from the room his father was asleep in, but J didn't glance a bit. Instead of going to his room, he entered the bathroom and locked the door. Facing his own reflection, his blondish hair, eyes more black than brown, J vowed. 

_I will never be like him._

The cracked glass mirrored his inner conflict as his eyes skipped from one side of his face to another. 

_Will I?_

If he really was like his father, a person he loathed more than he hated his own weaknesses, so be it. If he was a monster his father were, then he'll have to fight back.

 _I'll be worse, father. I'll be_ _worse._

* * *

He told her how he used to live, with whom he used to live with. He warned her about the demons of past that still rushed after him, not giving him peace. 

She didn't mind it. She didn't look at his scars, only to be disgusted with the horror of cut flesh, rather accepting the dark side of him. She was loyal to him, fascinated by his ideas and sharp intelligence. 

He felt something. He held some emotions he couldn't name well, but they were directed towards her. Could it be love? 

J hadn't been shown to love much; he got too early emotionally seperated from his mother to detect the exact sensation of it. 

But rage. Oh, rage he knew very well. 

He stopped pacing the room and looked at her, only to see her already staring at him, eyes and lips playfully smiling. He smiled back widely. 

"What is it, dolly? Like what you see?" he teased, gesturing at himself. 

She bit back a laugh. "Oh, I do like what I see. But I would much rather _taste_ what I see."

J snorted. "My, my. Such a filthy mouth."

"But you like me", she said, getting off the bed and walking over to him. "And you want me."

She placed a hand on his crotch, pressing gently. Smiling up to him, he felt himself growing eager. Her eyes sparkled with affection, but as she pressed her warm lips to his, he sensed desire and hungry lust. 

He responded by grabbing her hard, his body pushing hers into the wall. The shivering cold of it took a moan out of her, which made him grin. He liked control. He liked being able to restrain himself from any sensation he could feel, so he would avoid getting hurt or disappointed if he gets too attached. 

But it was different with her; she was wild like him, equally open-spirited, and adventurous. She didn't shy away from him the first time she saw him on the street. She didn't give him a nickname to remind him of his disfigured face. 

What was it with her that made his demons grow more silent? What was hidden in her lips, skin, eyes, fingers that made him forgetful of who he used to be, what had happened to him? 

"Less thinking, more doing", she panted in his ear, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

"Sorry, dear", he replied, ripping her shirt off and drawing her closer. 

Feeling the heat of a body under his embrace, he finally collided with her, letting her yelp loudly while he groaned, picking up his pace. In a second his lips were back at her own, silencing her persistent moaning. 

He couldn't let himself love her. He doesn't know how to. Where's the difference? What is love? What is just a pure, animal desire? 

"J...", she whispered. 

"Shut it", came his response. 

He'd known her for few months. He stayed here only because she was that one person alone not to be afraid of his looks, of his crippled emotions. 

And she seemed lonely. Out of place, fearless, unique. Exactly what he needed to be, needed to have. 

He assumed to be only attracted to her physical appearance, bold personality and a bad taste in men. He only needed a hideout after what had happened to him, just for a short time before he went back to check on his mother. 

But there he was. Pressed against her, thrown in the life of a woman he knew a little about; most of it based on his personal opinions. 

And he couldn't let go. 


	2. "My heart is just too dark to care; I can't destroy what isn't there"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little tip: I named J's father Tim.

Somebody pulled him out of bed. 

Two strong arms grabbing the collar of his shirt and forcing him to stand up. Feeling drowsy, J gave a quick glance at the window. It was still very dark outside. No stars to be seen. 

"Wake up, young boy! It's time you start being fucking useful to me!" father clapped him. 

"11pm. Let me sleep, father", J said. 

He smacked his father's hand away and, loosening the grip of his arms, laid down in bed again. 

"Besides, I think we've established I'm no use to you whatsoever", he finished, covering himself with a blanket and turning over to face the wall rather than his father. 

Sarcastic remark of his didn't end the conversation. If anything, it fuelled the fury of his father more. But J counted on it. 

He prepared himself for the fists. So when father grabbed the covers and threw them away, J stroke with a first punch. It caught his father off guard. He stumbled on the floor. Blood going out of his nose, but he didn't pay any attention to it. What fascinated him the most was this boy standing in the middle of the room, staring back at him wide-eyed, but mercilessly clenching his right fist. 

"Well, well, look at that! Somebody's grown some balls, hahaha!" 

Father got up, shaking off the dust, but laughing histerically. Straightening his clothes, he looked at J with softer expression. _Is that possible?_

J was quiet. He waited for a punishment; he hoped for it. So he could get him back. So he could fight. Instead, his father tapped his shoulder and said, his tone normal and without any trace of previous laughter: 

"I knew I could count on this. Your anger. Your eagerness." 

J was confused, he could tell. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"You will see. Now... go get ready and come help me with the gasoline. Jimmy and boys don't like it when the delivery's late." 

Jimmy and his boys; dad's pals. He'd steal those cans full of gasoline from the local companies only to sell them to the mafia - the mobs - which would grant him a nice sum of money in order for discretion. 

J had never seen that money. His father would take all of it and spend it on gambling and alcohol (and a couple of prostitutes). 

But he had never asked J to come along with him before. That was new. 

"Oh, I almost forgot. Give me back the keys", his eyes pierced into J's own when he noticed his confusion. "I know it's you who stole them. And locked the door so I can't get in. I mean, what were you thinking? That business gives us money to survive."

He leaned at the doorframe and streched out his rough hand. J looked around, sighing, but pulling the keys out of the drawer. He threw it in his direction and father gracefully caught it.

"There you go", he said with a smile on his face. "Now, hurry. I'll get _very_ angry if you're not downstairs in five minutes. And you better know you don't want to piss me off tonight."

"I do, father", J replied, looking away from him. 

"Good boy." 

J had never gone with his father anywhere. He just wasn't worth of his father's trust. Till this night, apparently. That was new. 

And how J will eventually find out, life-changing. 

* * *

The meeting was held on the backside of an old parking lot. 

As they were seated in the unheated van, his father checking the watch every three minutes and J blowing in his fingers to warm them up, they waited for a sign. This was a delicate job: Jimmy wasn't one hundred percent trusting of anyone. He had to be completely sure there weren't some cops involved with any kind of business he was connected with. So they waited. And waited. 

It'd been past half an hour, and J had already had enough.

"Are you sure they're coming? Or you're just messing with me for your own sick pleasure?" J growled through his gritted teeth. 

Father laughed. "Patience, boy. Of course they're comin'! Just wait as I tell you!" 

It passed full hour. It was already past midnight, and it was taking too long for J's liking. For anyone's liking. 

He was nearly half asleep when he felt his father nudging him with his shoulder. 

"Hey, boy, wake up! Wake up, J! J!"

"..." 

He groaned. "Damn it! Fucking damn it!" 

He took a bottle and slammed it onto J's head. The warm liquid spilt itself on J's disheveled hair. 

"Ouch. What was that for?" J hissed, rubbing the back of his head gently. 

"No time for it now, no time! We've got the sign. Jimmy's here." 

"Where?" 

"He's hiding in the shadows, you idiot! What, you think he'd just show up and draw somebody's fucking attention like a clown on the circus stage?" 

J chuckled. "He'd hardly get someone to pay attention to him if there's nobody to be seen. At _this_ place. In _this_ hour."

Father laughed humorlessly, waving his hand. "Oh, aren't you so clever! Nevermind; take those three cans of gasoline and then come for the rest." 

J blinked. "Why wouldn't you take them? You're not going?" 

Father waved his head. "This is initiation. See? You're inheriting a business. Besides, I have some other work to do." 

He lit up a cigarette, nodding at J and offering him one. 

"No, thanks." 

Jumping out of the van, J took all the cans out and put them on the ground, as quietly as possible. You'd never know who could be hiding anywhere, even if you are aware of a fact you're most probably alone. 

One of Jimmy's boys waved at him. J rolled his eyes, but waved back, motioning for a help. 

"See you later then, father", J said. 

"Oh, come on. Brighten up. It wouldn't kill you." 

J turned around and started organizing the cans. Two of Jimmy's men ran over to him and took the rest. J observed them: they were huge guys, extremely tall, dressed in black suits and shielding their eyes with black glasses.

It was ironic how they lived up to the movie mafia's standards. It made J smile. 

"There you go, son. Smile. It solves things", father said, starting the car and getting further away. He laughed real loud, trying to confirm his theory. 

"Don't let them take your smile away, J!" he yelled, as his silhouette slowly faded away on the horizon, leaving J utterly alone.

"So... you're Tim's son?" Jimmy asked. 

J looked at the man. Jimmy was not what you would have expected from a boss of some gangster mob. He was short (much shorter than J; he barely reached the level of J's chin), dressed in a fake gold jacket and shiny black pants, that absolutely made no sense with the contrast of his darker tan. 

_They really do live up to the movie standards, don't they?_ , J chuckled inside himself. 

Jimmy's brows furrowed at the sight of the young man; his dirty blond hair, handsome face and a tall figure. 

"You don't resemble much of your father", he growled through his teeth. J noticed he had a bunch of golden ones. 

Shrugging his tired shoulders, J said: "I've taken after my mother. Hopefully." 

Jimmy stared him up and down with caution, circling him around. J had taken notice of Jimmy never letting go of his gun mount. He was exposed to Jimmy to do as he'd wish; and J didn't want to know what was he thinking. 

"Are you sure he _is_ your father?" Jimmy spit out on the ground. 

"I'd love he isn't." 

Now Jimmy grinned; turning around J, he made his way towards the black jeep and whispered something to one of his men. J couldn't hear what they were saying, but surely grew more impatient as he didn't understand what was going on. He just wanted to complete the job so he could leave. That's what he wanted. To leave as soon as possible. 

"Where's the money, Russ?" Jimmy asked another man. 

Russ, a huge black guy who looked more scarier and more dangerous (and certainly more like the boss of this unusual gang than their actual boss), nodded at Jimmy and approached J. He took an envelope and then handed it to J, offering him a wide smile and winking as he backed three steps away. J accepted the money, but refused to share any smile of his own. He hated smiling anyway; and quite now, he sensed something was odd in the air. 

"If this is all, I'd like to go now", J spoke, although knowing it wasn't the smartest thing to say. 

At that, the whole gang turned around to face him. Jimmy stepped out of the group, grinning widely. 

"Why? Don't like the party, boy?" he spit once again. "Ha?" 

J huffed. "I just wanna finish this off so I could get some really needed sleep. Get it?" 

"Whoa. Somebody's got confidence, ha?" Jimmy replied, causing his boys to laugh and elbow each other. 

"Finish this off?" he pointed at the cans while smiling at J. 

J waited in anticipation. Jimmy raised a brow. Then gave a sign to Russ and the another guy to open one of the delivered cans. 

"Alright, boys. We'll _finish_ this off so our Sleeping Beauty over here can go home and catch. Some. Sleep." 

Jimmy looked away then. The looks on Russ and the other guy's faces were deadpan. Something was deadly wrong. 

"Boss, he lied to us", Russ said. 

J squinted his eyes. "How do you mean, I lied to you?" 

"Silence!" Jimmy yelled. "Spill it out, Russ. Come on! Spill it!"

The can hit the ground. The liquid leaked out, but didn't smell like gasoline. Jimmy dipped his fingers in it and then brought it to his nose. No, it definitely wasn't gasoline. 

He then turned to J. Noticing the strict look on Jimmy's face, J knew it wasn't the delivery he had expected. 

"What is this, boy? You think this funny, don't you?" 

J swallowed hard. "I - I don't know. My father told me to bring them here." 

"And he couldn't force himself to come meet his old pal because? Ha? Because what?" he spit out. "He still owes me some... things." 

Jimmy looked territorial now. The playfulness of his demeanour disappeared. J heard cracked knuckles behind his back. 

"Well, he told me I'm inheriting a business. That this is initiation", J tried again, his voice hardening. 

Jimmy inched closer and picked his head up. 

"Inheriting a business? Initiation? Hahaha! Good one, Tim, good one!" 

Grabbing his stomach, Jimmy tried to contain himself on his feet. Outburst of laughter was equally heard behind, coming from Jimmy's boys, only to be silenced down once Jimmy returned to his scarier role. He carried a knife out of his jacket, and then smiled.

"Tell me, boy, does your father love you? Does he care about you?" 

J felt the sharpness of a knife on his skin. The tip of it slipped from his cheek down to his throat, and there it rested. 

"No", J answered without thinking. 

His father had never loved him; he could have never loved him. As much as J didn't hold feelings for him either. They had just suffered each other. For years. 

"No?" 

J nodded, staring him in the eyes. "No." 

Jimmy nodded too, drawing the knife away. He clapped his hands together and pointed at Russ and two other guys. Leaning in, he whispered: 

"Teach him a lesson. _Only_ a lesson. And let him take the money." 

The boys put their black gloves on. 

"Don't leave traces behind; we don't need cops sneaking around here." 

"You got it, boss." 

Jimmy glanced at J, waving his head. Looking down on the ground, he kicked a can with a loud growl, then turned to J. 

"Tell your father I'll find a way to get him for tonight's failed delivery. But for now, he can keep his dirty payment." 

J looked down at the envelope he'd forgotten to be holding tightly. 

"All yours, boys", Jimmy said, rushing his way into the distance, into the dark. 

As he left, J was surronded by snickering men in a minute. Their predatory looks gave the truth away: he was getting beaten that night. Badly. 

_There it is... the trickery._

He cracked a little smile in the corner of his lips.

"What are you smiling at?!" Russ yelled. 

J looked him in the eyes. "Oh, the irony. The joke. You wouldn't get it." 

Russ groaned. In a split second they threw themselves on J, punching mercilessly as he bent down, squirmed on the ground. He smelled the scent of the grass and tasted a sour liquid on his tongue. Domestic oil. Cooking colour. 

Bastard of his father tricked him. He tested his trust and J lost the game. This time. 

He didn't get up or tried to defend himself. He let them beat him till the first drops of sweat showed on their foreheads, till the aching limbs betrayed them after the hours of using them against J's young body. Even after they had left, taking the money and sharing it between themselves (unknowingly to their boss), J didn't move. 

_I don't care, I don't care._

He was gasping for breath. He let out a groan of pain when he laid on his back. 

_You'll never get to me, father. My heart is dark._

He opened his eyes, trying to get past the blurry vision. The shine of stars pained his fractal soul. He couldn't find any rest. 

_My heart is black._

* * *

He imagined the stars burn. 

To him, they represented millions of neurons. Each one of them was potentially dangerous - they could have been lost at any time. Just like a thought, an idea. Just like the mind. Everything can be lost permanently. Everything burns. 

But how is it to burn? 

"J, your thoughts are loud", she whispered. 

She was pressed against his naked chest, but shifted herself upwards to have a look at him. He seemed absent: his lips formed a thin line, his teeth chewing the inside of his cheeks. Where the scars are. 

She leaned on his arm, trying to pull him out of his thoughts, which she was doing for the great amount of time. But he didn't get away from his thinking. 

Huffing, and getting annoyed by the sound of him squishing while chewing on his own flesh, she smacked his chest. After it hadn't worked, she sighed and placed one hand on his cheek, feeling the scar underneath. 

_That_ made him jump. 

"Sorry, J. Did it hurt?" she asked in concern. Maybe she had gone too far. 

He glared at her. His hardened gaze didn't hold anger, as she thought it might, or fear, as she was used to. No, they echoed emptiness. Pure, utter abyss of darkness. 

"What are you doing?" his voice sounded hoarse. 

She backed away from him, covering her upper half as she broke eye contact. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." 

He exhaled deeply. "It didn't hurt." 

He shifted his position so he could get a better look on her face, but she didn't look at him; she _saw_ it. Darkness laying underneath.

His mind was a place hard to reach to. She never knew what was happening behind his closed eyelashes, what was he dreaming about at night. He was special. That's what she had known since she met him that day. Not by his scars, which already cast him out of the normal society; no. It was his posture. The way he handled himself, the way he was always there, but never too close. 

She did like him, she did care for him. Maybe she hadn't known for a very long time to settle her mind on it. 

"It didn't hurt me, dolly", he said, laughing it off. 

"It's past that anymore: can't feel them. They're just there. A decor on my statue. As an art, gifted gracefully by the hands of my _so beloved father_."

He laughed once more at his remark, never taking his eyes off her. 

She smiled. His laughter. Another characteristic of his she really, really liked. 

Rough fingers touched her chin, lifting it slowly up. Now he was seated on her, his knees pressing the sides of her hips. 

His skin was hot. Always too hot. Like he was on fire. Or maybe he _was_ the fire, and she was going to burn.

"Is that a smile I see?" he asked softly. 

She smiled wider. "It could be. Why?" 

"I like it", he growled. "I like it when you smile. It lights your eyes." 

She stared him deep in the eyes finally. Darkness was still in there, but something else sparkled up behind it. And she guessed what it was. 

"Another round?" 

He nodded. "Another round."

She raised her brow suspiciously. "Really, J?" 

He nodded again. "Really, dol-ly." 

"Ah...", she sighed. "My lips still burn of overuse."

"We shall use them more", came his response. 

"We've been in bed since afternoon. And now", she pointed at the clock, "is almost past two in the morning."

He waved his head, hair bouncing as he did it. He was like a puppy. She liked when he became this playful. 

"It's not like we'll wake up the neighbours", he said. 

Leaning closer, their foreheads and noses touching, his warm breath on her lips, she closed her eyes and whispered: 

"First of all, that happened. Last week. Tuesday, to be precise." 

She heard him snort. She grinned.

"Besides", she turned him over, laying on top of him, "You're. Never. Silent. During. Sex." 

He licked his lips, gazing at her. He always searched for something on her. She didn't know what it was. Yet she had never asked. She had just hoped it was enough.

And there he was, watching her like he couldn't settle his mind on it. They were doing all of this for months. It started as a game - a game of two hearts. One lonely and one black. One beating and the other gone.

"J?" her honey voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

He gave her a long "hmm?" before sliding a hand from her cheek down to her neck. Her skin was cold. Always too cold. Like she was the ice he couldn't thaw out. 

"Fine. I'll take control this time", she said. 

Their lips touched forcefully. Her hands gripping his lean neck. His hand grabbing her lower back steadily. His nails buried in her icy flesh. Their moaning, panting, as they would both go through each other's highs and lows. 

As she was kissing his neck, riding him in an ecstasy, J could only think of how she was the only person in his life he didn't want to melt. 


	3. "If I'm alone, I cannot hate"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Why so serious? ~

When J arrived home, it was still dark outside. 

The air blew chilly through his broken bones, but he didn't feel it. Limping home, he heard it again: the sound of his mother pleading and his father laughing. 

J stood at the door, trying to decipher what was the fuss about. Apparently, it was about _him_. 

"Where is my son, Tim? What have you done to him?" she cried. "Tell me, please. Please, tell me!" 

Father groaned. "Argh, woman! The boy's fine. A little work will do him good." 

Empty glass landed on the table. 

_He's drinking again._

"Work? You sent him working at this hour? In the middle of the night? What if something happens to him?" mother sobbed. 

Another glass on the table. His father coughing. 

_I hope you're coughing blood_ , J roared inside. 

"What would happen to him? He's young. Strong. Could be useful. Besides..."

"Besides, somebody has to clean up your dirty work, don't they?"

J stepped in. His hair and clothes soaked in dried blood. His eyes menacing, pointing a bold look at his father's amused face. His mother yelped, putting a palm over her mouth. 

"They got ya badly, didn't they? Eh, Jimmy, Jimmy...", he said.

"It wasn't Jimmy", J spoke with a silent growl. "His boys." 

"Oh, yes, makes more sense. They are big, big fellas. Don't want to get on their bad side." 

J chuckled. "And somehow you have." 

Mother approached J. Her hands reached out to touch him, embrace him, but she didn't seem to know how. 

"He's not gonna break, woman. Come on, soothe your baby boy", father laughed. 

J looked down at his mother. She struggled to get closer, unsure of what to do, how to act towards him. He'd always been distant. In her eyes he noticed a plea for help. 

"Does it..." 

"I'm fine, mum. As father put it, I'm not breakable." 

He gave out his hand and she took it. Her touch, her care was always too gentle for him to comprehend. Why did she let his father do this to her repeatedly? Turn her into a shadow of a woman afraid of everything? 

J snaked another arm around her and held her for a hug. She was surprised, he could tell. J never showed affection. Or worry. 

He was always there, but too distant. 

Tim clapped, ruining the moment. 

"Oh, I'm touched", he said, shedding a fake tear away. J's head snapped towards him. 

"Tim, please, don't mock. He's had a rough night. Let him...", mother said softly, staring at her son's physical features. She patted a strand of his curly hair. 

"Shut up, you stupid woman!" Tim glared and threw a glass in her direction. It didn't hit her, though; it barely even came near her, but it was enough to make her jump fearfully aside. 

J shielded her. "Don't talk to her like that. Show some respect!" 

The tone of his voice surprised Tim. His eyes grew wide as he drew his look from the woman behind him to his young face. 

"Whoa. Somebody's definitely grown some balls tonight." 

He raised up from the crooked chair he sat on and moved behind the table. Close to the kitchen. 

Mother put a hand over her son's wrist. He looked at her. 

"Don't do this, J. It's alright." 

He stared at her, darkness setting up over his brown eyes. She looked nervous. 

"Yeah, J. Live a little! Have fun! Take few bucks and buy yourself some lovely company for a night!" 

Tim spread his arms open and started circling around himself, humming a cheery song. His person was insufferable. 

_If only I could erase that idiotic smile off your face._

Then he took a note of what his father had last said. 

_Wait, I could._

Then he smiled. Evilly. 

"There's no money", he whispered. 

"J!" mother half-screamed, covering her mouth. 

Father stopped his weird dancing and singing. 

"What did you say, J?" he asked. 

J straighted up, looking back at him with pride. 

"I said: there's no money."

Tim's arms fell down. He stared at J in disbelief. 

"No. It can't be. It can't be. Jimmy always pays. Jimmy always pays!" 

His fists were clenched, but he didn't swoop up at J.

J grinned. "Oh, he did mention payment. But he's not quite sure what it'll be yet." 

Tim stared at him, quiet. J kept going on. 

"He gave me some money, you know. But I just kind of... lost... it." 

Tim's jaw tightened. " _Lost_ it? How do you mean - lost it?"

J rolled his eyes. "Well, it was more like... taken away from my hands. Somebody had to pay your debts, see?" 

He pointed at himself; his dirty clothes, bruised hands and legs. 

"You! You! You ruined me! You signed me a death-deal!" Tim panicked, taking another glass and throwing it this time at J; only for him to successfully avoid it. 

"What did you expect?" J asked him. 

"I expected to get the money I deserve! I need it! I need that money! It's my money! IT'S MY MONEY!" 

Tim screamed in his face, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his head down to look at him better, since he was shorter than J. 

"And I asked: What. Did. You. Expect?" J replied coldly. 

Tim laughed desperately, like a madman. 

"It was a joke! It's a joke! Jimmy knows I'm not a betrayer to him!" 

"But to us, you are, aren't you? To your family?" 

Tim grabbed J's neck and forced his head closer. 

"Listen, young boy! You are not my family. You're a shame! A shame! Both you and your filthy mother!" 

_Clap._

Tim was on the floor. Mother screamed. 

"J! What have you done?" 

"Taught him some respect", J shrugged off. 

His mother cried. J turned towards her and opened his arms. She leaned into the hug, burying her head in his chest as he placed a hand on her hair. J rested his chin on the top of her head. 

"Get your stuff, mum. We're leaving this scum to his fate", he said calmly this time. 

She stiffened. "No, no - we can't leave. He'll need us. He'll need me." 

J snorted at that. "He won't, mum. He doesn't need me or you; only to be punched around. That's what we're good to him for." 

He let go of her and moved to the cupboards. Opening them, and then taking out to clean them of its content. He didn't glance at his father. He should have. But he supposed him to be knocked out. Long enough for them to leave quickly.

"Not so fast, boy", a dark voice said.

J stopped what he was doing, irritated. He inhaled and exhaled sharply before turning around to see his father holding his mother; hand over her mouth and a razor to her neck. Pressed tightly into sensitive, pale skin.

"Let her go", J whispered. 

Tim grinned, showing his rotten teeth. 

"Oh, that's a very poor choice of words. Got nothing better with that vocabulary and intelligence of yours, J? Ha-a?" 

J clenched his fists, but said no words. He just kept staring while Tim rocked back and forth, grinning from ear to ear at his son' seriousness.

"What have I told you, J?" he said, his voice like velvet. "You're a pretty boy. Could get a pretty girl, like your mother over here." 

Tim patted her hair, pulling at the ends; she sobbed in his palm. J's teeth gritted. 

"You just need to _smile_." 

He let go of his mother, pushing her into the glass cabinet. Her face slammed through the glass, its pieces spilling on the floor. J's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. Tim shifted the razor in his hand.

"Why so serious, J?" 

J launched at him, but Tim was quicker. He managed to escape his son's attack, twirling around him and, before J could react, cornering him in the wall. J panted. Tim leaned closer and forced him to look up. He felt the cold sharpness of the razor on his skin. 

_Two times in the same night. How lucky I am_ , J thought, but dared not to smile. He wouldn't give him that kind of satisfaction.

Tim spoke then. Darker. 

"Why so serious?" 

He grabbed J's jaw too hard. J parted his lips to breathe some air. And then he felt metal in the corner of his dry mouth.

"Let's put a smile on that face." 

* * *

His vision was blurry.

Hearing altered, but: 

He heard his mum scream. 

He heard his father laugh. 

He couldn't speak, even if he wanted to.

Something warm filled up his mouth. 

He stared at his hands, his shirt. 

There was blood everywhere. 

She screamed. 

He laughed. 

Scream. Laugh. Scream. Laugh. Scream. 

_Laugh!_

J got up from the floor, felt the blood sipping out and pushed the front door open. He stumbled on the street, but ran away from his home and hadn't looked back since. 

* * *

He wandered on the streets for days. 

"Oh God, look at that freak!" a boy mocked. 

"Mommy, what's wrong with this man?" a little girl asked. 

"Nothing, dear. It's none of our business. Let's go. We'll leave him alone", her strictly dressed mother said and pulled her away. 

"Are you alright, son? Do you need help?" an elderly woman proposed. 

"Get away from him. Look at his face. He must've been a drug dealer or an addict of some kind. He brings nothing but trouble", an old man hissed and rushed his wife away. 

He looked away from them, and they kept looking away from him. 

* * *

J was passing through a shadowed alley when he heard her sing. And play a soft tune on her ukulele. 

It was mid afternoon, but he decided to give it a look. If his appearance scares her off, well... that's something he'll have to get used to. Especially now when he is like this. His fingers made their way to his right cheek. The flesh was still rugged. It was still aching. 

He came closer and there he saw her: sitting on the small bench, striking on the wires and humming out a tune. She was smiling, and it made him a bit agitated. Now that he was scarred forever with a smile on his rigid face, it made him even angry. 

She noticed a shadow and put her ukulele down. Squirming her eyes, she seemed to acknowledge the presence of this man in front of her.

"You should get a doctor for that injury. It could get infected." 

Her voice was calm; no sign of panic or nervousness. He chuckled as much as the fresh scars allowed him to.

"Glad you're worried, sunshine." 

She rolled her eyes, but got up. She came close to him; J didn't expect that. He stood still there, in the middle of the day, as she reached out to touch his face. J studied her strict expression, but shut his eyes closed when her warm fingertips landed on his heated cheeks. 

"It looks pretty bad", she said with a frown. 

"You don't say?" J attempted to smile, but ended up crying out due to pain. 

She tapped his cheek lightly. "Don't smile. It will only make it hurt more. What happened to you?" 

She looked at him with hope evident in her eyes, as if she was expecting some kind of friendly bond from him. 

Then he let out a little laugh, although it sounded more creaky, raspy, than he'd ever laughed before. It didn't sound like his usual self. But however, he didn't feel like his usual self anymore. 

She gave him a suspicious look, but didn't back away. J's eyes softened. 

"It's ironic, isn't it? You tell me not - forbid me - to smile, while my father finds no other cure for the world's problems in such. A. Little. Smile." 

He groaned at the last sentence, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

"Your father did this to you?" she asked in a much softer tone. 

J nodded, keeping on chewing the cut flesh; only to make it bleed again. 

"Oh by God, stop doing it! Look what you've done!" 

She huffed and grabbed him by a hand, pulling him out of the alley. Running through her pockets in a rush, she handed him a handkerchief and pointed at his scars. 

"Put that over your right cheek and don't you dare chew on it more!" 

J mumbled something, impossible for her to detect, but just assuming he asked where are they going. 

"I'm taking you to my place; you need it disinfected and cleaned", they rushed through the full traffic, "Your luck it's not that far away." 

Till they had come to another shadowy alley, and up the stairs of some old building, J heard this mysterious girl sigh, swear and mumble to herself (something like, _"Why am I doing shit like this? I could get myself killed at the end of the day."_ ) He found it amusing; especially for the part that she didn't run away like any others would do at the sight of him. 

The cast out of society had grown on him. He understood the way he'd been despised by fellow citizens of Gotham. 

The civil ones. 

The kind of those who had never worried about the outcome of tomorrow, or the consequences of being humiliated and mutiliated by the member of a family. 

The kind of those who had never known what monster they can give birth to, only to cry and plead for a savior when the monster comes back to sink its claws into their moral code. 

Moral code which is just a bad joke; abandoned at the time when the rules no longer apply. 

J hated the so-called 'purity' of Gotham's people; since he'd known how to dirty it up. 

He hated the amount of faith they put into the hands of corrupted policemen, arrogant politicians and legendary heroes. 

Especially when he'd known how to bring them all down.

* * *

"I didn't catch your name", he said. 

"I didn't give you one", she replied. 

They sat in her living room; more of, he sat and she stood, bending over from time to time to get a closer look at each side of his face. 

"Have you been to hospital?" she asked, putting another band over the scar to stop it from bleeding over his lap and her floor. 

"No. What use?" J shrugged his shoulders.

She huffed. "Oh, I don't know, maybe get the help you need and deserve?" 

She felt him stiffen at the said words. 

_It was a mistake to say. Probably_ , she thought.

Thinking she might had gone a bit too far, she backed away from him and sat across. Getting a better look at him, she could sense he was a very handsome, attractive young man: shoulder-length hair, darker tan, firm muscles. Dark brown eyes more similar to black. Full of... tragedy? Anger? Rage? She couldn't tell exactly, couldn't put a finger to it. But something was out there. 

The way he stared at her. Without blinking, almost piercing through her very own soul. 

He was the hunter, the panthera, and she was the prey, the gazelle. She just hadn't known it back then.

"Are you trouble?" she asked slowly. 

"Would you want me to be?" J replied without hesitation.

Again, the stare. Intense, captivating and somewhat pleading. Like he cared to say: _Get me out of here. Get me out of me._

"You're an enigma. That's who you are."

"But a trouble?" he nudged her. 

She looked up at him and smiled. 

"No. No, you're not." 

"Hm." 

She smiled wider, now fully entertained. 

"Not happy with the answer?" 

"Not _convinced_ with your answer." 

"Ha-ha. Very funny", she stated. "But keep it on a serious side, don't talk too much. At least till it... heals." 

"It will not. It will stay like this." 

"I meant, till it stops bleeding. Or hurting. And don't chew on it anymore! You'll open the injury again."

"Got it, nurse", he offered her a small grin. 

_What is it about you that makes you so interesting to discover?_

"I suppose you have no place to stay?" 

"I don't. Why?" 

"You can stay here. If you want." 

J raised his brows and crossed his arms. 

"You don't know me." 

She shrugged. "Don't need to."

"Yes, you _do_. I'm a stranger." 

"You seem like an interesting one." 

J laughed. "You're insufferable, you know? Fine. I'm staying." 

She clapped her hands, standing up from her seat. 

"Good! Now, I suppose..." 

"You're doing a lot of supposing", he pointed out, causing her to roll her eyes. 

"Don't interrupt. Please. That's not nice." 

"My apologies", J raised his hands. 

"Okay, I...", she glanced at him, " _suppose_ you're hungry. I am a bit too. So, what do you say I go buy some food and you can take a shower? I'll get you some clothes too. Sounds good?" 

"Sounds perfect." 

As she turned around, ready to leave the apartment in the hands of an unknown man, she heard him say something. Not catching it completely, she turned to face him, giving him a questioning look. 

"What?" 

J cleared his throat, leaning forward. 

"Your name", he said. "I think I'll call you dolly." 


	4. "My smile was taken long ago, if I can change I hope I never know"

From that day on, J stayed with this mysterious girl. What they had couldn't be easily described; it wasn't exactly some form of a love or particular liking they felt towards each other (not in the beginning, at least), but he rather grew fond of her - and she grew fond of his presence too. 

At first, J refused to tell her fully about his past, his backstory and awful events which led to him being horribly scarred. He didn't want to remember it himself either. As he had thought it before, he wanted to erase the memory of himself and his name. He had longed for a new one, a new memory - or not any at all. And he could had done it back then. He could had been just somebody else. Or something else. 

But her persistence, her patience and confidence had grown on him too, as well as did the abandonment from others. So he told her. Everything - from his father's repeated abuse (equally measured to him and his mother), betrayal played upon him to the final fight when he stood up in order to defend his loved one that resulted in such gory conclusion. She listened to all the things he had to say, all the feelings he had to express and let go of. She didn't flinch at the smallest signs of his negativity - probably because she was his exact opposite, the positive light. She was more than able to bring his good side out. 

That's the purpose light serves: it has to shine for awhile to not let the dark seem like the only possible way out. And at that time, it wasn't too late for J to be saved. 

* * *

"Are you thinking of visiting home?" she asked him one night, while laying on his bare chest. 

His breathing was steady, but she felt him grow more tense at the question. Not wanting to trigger or irritate him, she placed a soft kiss on his warm skin. From there, she just kept going further, giving him openmouthed kisses and light bites till she reached his throat; there she could hear him making a low growl. Then she looked up at him, but his eyes were focused on the ceiling. Knowing it wasn't a desirable ceiling to look at, she guessed he must had played with this certain thought in his head. She nudged him with her hand. 

"I would _hardly_ refer to that place as home", he said in stern voice. He sounded calm, but she knew there were bad impressions circling his thoughts. 

"And why would I go back? To receive another scars perhaps?" he continued, now his anger coming to the surface. She couldn't explain it, but the way he delivered the sentence pained her. 

"I'm content with these anyway", he spoke. 

"Don't say things like that, J", she scolded him. 

J laughed, but finally looked at her. It was always an experience for him: to see her there, pressed near him and not taking her look off of him, even if he wasn't pleasurable to look at, even if his eyes would turn menacing. He deemed her brave, very brave indeed. 

"What is it, dolly?" he asked, playfully placing a hand over shoulder and pulling her even more closer. "Don't like my 'friends' anymore? Am I boring you?" 

"Never, J", she smiled. "Never would I be bored of you." 

He grinned at her and leaned in to give her a peck on the lips, gently biting the lower one. 

"Umm...", she purred into him, taking his face in her hands. She clung to his body, pulling him nearer and nearer. Not being able to carry his full weight, they both stumbled onto the floor and it resulted in the burst of a wild laughter. 

Tangled in the hot and cold embrace of each other, they closed their eyes and laid down, although it was uncomfortable to stay on the floor. It didn't matter to them; they held onto the other body breathing, to the other person bringing peace. And happiness, of which J didn't know quite enough, but enjoyed it with a first lover's illusional addiction. 

Her breathing slowed down and J knew she fell asleep. Before heading to sleep himself, he placed another kiss on her forehead and stretched out to reach the blanket, carefully tucking her in. He did it with such gentle motion, such care he couldn't fully understand nor explain. It was necessary for him to take just one look at her and he would catch himself thinking: _What is it that makes you so adorable to see?_

"What is it?" he whispered, laying his head next to hers and snaking his arms around her sleeping form. It didn't take him long enough to fall asleep. 

A morning after their brief conversation, J decided to visit his mother. 

All the months he had spent with his dolly, he never bothered to pay her a visit. Sure, he did come near his former home to check on her, but he never made an entrance. While spying through the kitchen window, J would get to see his mother for a few minutes. He noticed her physical features: she seemed to grow much older in these months than the any previous day he'd seen her. She was becoming more tiredly-looking, more sadened every time he'd come back. 

J knew he was the reason of her despair. Her only son had left her there alone, with a man whose temper never seemed to be in the balance. 

_You have his anger_ , she told J. That statement was his reason why he didn't want to return to her. The assumption of him being the same as his hated father had made him uncontrollably raging and had had him fuel that hatred towards himself. He felt like he needed to punish her for such a little faith in him; avoidance was his way of providing it. 

But that morning he did go to his 'home'. It had been three weeks since he last visited. Standing there, in those rare Gotham sunshine days, J took in every detail of the wooden, brown building he'd considered his 'home'. It didn't bring any dear memories, didn't resemble anything of value; but he had spent whole of his life living here. 

J waited for the sight of his mother. But she wasn't coming. The place seemed quiet and deserted. For a moment, a part of him, a part that still cared, began to panic. Did they leave? Did _he_ force her to leave so J couldn't find her? Did father do something to her? 

He couldn't wait any longer. He burst through the door, his eyes scanning the colourless living room in frantic. It looked... dirty (which was out of ordinary; his mother was always an orderly woman). But there it was: floor filled with dust and empty bottles, sofa covered with many and many layers of clothing. Shards of glass spilt on the staircase. Drops of blood. A whole lot of blood. 

"J?" a hoarse voice spoke out of nowhere. 

J turned around, only to see Tim standing in the doorway. He looked ill: his face had that sickish yellow colour, his black eyes were bloodshot and wetty. He was a disgusting person, and he finally looked on the outside the way he was on the inside. 

"Where is my mother?" J asked, his voice ice cold. 

A yelp left the mouth of his father, which surprised J, but still he showed no sympathy for him. There is no need to sympathise with the daring devil. 

"J...", Tim whined out. 

He groaned, kicking a stool over. "WHERE IS MY MOTHER?" 

"She's dead! They killed her! They killed her!" Tim screamed out in pain, falling on his knees. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed. J noticed a couple of blooded bandages on them. It looked like he got nastily bruised. 

J blinked. Hearing of his mother's death didn't hit him instantly; it made him only feel... empty. He stood there, listening to his father's sobbing and clenching his fists. This didn't do anything for him, as it should have had. 

"Who are 'they' you're talking about?" J asked in a calmer, but still indifferent tone of voice. 

Tim looked up at him. J seemed so strong, so independent, so... not like he used to be. 

"This is your response? I just told you your mother died!" Tim yelled, his body and voice shaking. 

"Shut up!" J yelled back, taking a step closer. "You have no right to call me out for it! You were never good to her." 

He breathed in and out sharply. Tim kept staring at him as J started walking around the room, his eyes darting from one object to another. Everything was smashed, everything was broken. 

"Now tell me: who did it?" 

"If you're so smart, guess it yourself." 

J growled in annoyance. "Tell me!" 

"Jimmy's boys! It was them!" Tim admitted. "They came in the deep of the night. Just broke in the house, started shooting! I needed to hide!" 

J's eyes grew wide. "You left her to herself? Unprotected?" 

Tim nodded sadly. "I-I didn't know what to do! I didn't know she would...", his voice broke. "What was I supposed to do, J? What?"

"Save her. Protect her", J replied coldly. "What a good husband has to do." 

"Are you crazy?" Tim asked in disbelief. "I would have died!" 

"You should have died then!" J screamed, hitting him in the nose.

Tim fell on the floor, holding his nose and gasping loudly. The cracking noise was heard and the bone was probably broken. Blood went out and he stared at J in fear and terror. He'd never been angry like this. And that terrified Tim. 

Now he knew how it felt like for J before. All these years to suffer being beaten, humiliated, yelled and threatened upon. All of these years he had transformed into a rageful young man. 

J stepped near. Tim instinctively crawled away, causing him to grin widely. 

"Are you afraid of me, father?" J mocked. "Are you afraid of a little, old J?" 

He kneeled down and eyed his father warily. Tim stared at J's face and almost cried out at the sight of scars. Now he had a better look at them from the close up, and boy, were they gruesome. J leaned forward and grabbed his neck, forcing him to stay in place. 

"It's your favourite punch bag, father", J whispered and started laughing. 

And if the scars creeped Tim out (although he was the cause of them), the maniacal laughter spooked him completely. It didn't sound like J. Come to think of it, he had never heard J laugh before. 

The sight of the young man he knew, but seemed not to recognise, scared him so much that he couldn't stop the truth from coming out. Unfortunately, J didn't catch it very well. His laughter died away and, with that, his frightening self came out again. 

"Oh, I didn't hear it, _dad_ ", J responded sweetly. 

Tim mumbled some words out, but due to stuttering J heard none of it. He was getting irritated with each second passing by. 

"Ah", J huffed and licked both sides of his mouth. "Say it again. Why do you mumble?" 

Tim looked at him. J was already piercing him with his dark look. They both kept staring at one another for a long time in silence; both consumed with conflicting emotions and diverse thoughts. 

"Come on. Say it nice and slowly", J said quietly. "Nice and slowly." 

Finding himself out of the house, J leaned on his knees and shut his eyes closed. He was breathing rapidly, his body shaking uncontrollably. 

Tim stood at the doorframe, watching J's body twitch as he was trying to process the recently delivered news. 

"J...", Tim spoke out, reaching for him. 

But J jumped away, moving farther from him and this twisted house full of bloodshed and dark secrets. 

_I was never your father. I am not your father._

J's heart beated as fast as it could. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His body still shook like an unshielded bird out in the winter. His breaths never slowed down. But he kept his eyes shut. 

_Your mother was pregnant when I married her. Your real father left you and her alone. I saved her! I saved her from embarrassment. Your father never wanted you. You were a shame to him; a burden. And I took both of you in._

Tim watched him, but said nothing more. It was no matter anymore. J finally learned the truth his mother had forbid to be spoken about. 

So he waved his head, at peace with his past and his role in J's life, closing the door and going back to pretending it was over. 

For him, it was. For J it had only just begun. 

_Your father didn't want you. Your mother died and you weren't there to spare her from further suffering. You failed her after everything she had done for you._

J opened his eyes. He tasted something on his lips, felt something rolling down his disformed cheeks. 

He cried. He cried for his mother. He cried for his lover. He cried for the father he didn't meet nor interested. 

_You are an unloved child. You always were._

He ran. He ran from this place again, and like that night, he hadn't looked back. His house of cards shattered. It burned down. And with it, a part of him burned too. 

* * *

She held him specifically tight that night, running her tender fingers through his curly hair and placing soft kisses on his temple every now and then. He was silent, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. How could he? 

When he came home, it was already too late and she was beyond scared for him. She guessed something must had happened, since J had never come late if he wouldn't previously note it. So when he rushed into the apartment, she was already up and venting in the kitchen, making herself a tea and quietly praying he's alright. She left everything in the moment she heard the front door creak open and ran to greet him. But J looked... miserable. His eyes darted all over her small living room, and then stopped at her body frame, staring almost through her absently. 

"J...", she whispered, but gasped out loud when he forcefully grabbed her and hugged her, holding her incredibly close. She could hear his heartbeat - it was beating hurriedly. 

That night she took him by hand and laid him down next to her. He didn't protest; he felt completely numb, both his body and soul. He buried himself in her chest and she embraced him with warmth that still felt strange to him. But it was all he had now, and he gladly accepted it. 

She asked him what was wrong, what had happened to bring him to such state. At first, J showed a great deal of reluctance; he didn't understand the whole situation himself, let alone her. But he told her anyway. He told her what he heard and how it all fell in a perfect place. It all seemed connected and understandable to him now; why he was always despised by his fa - _stepfather_ \- and why he never felt any kind of parently love coming from him. Because there was never room for him. He was never needed nor wanted from any side. So his whole life was a lie. 

It was almost comical. It almost caught a smile out of him. 

She wasn't happy with it. Actually, she felt anger building up in her lungs, anger so omnious it was dangerous to act on it. There was also pity. But she didn't acknowledge it out loud. She knew J didn't like those sensitivities a lot, and he didn't tell about his feelings in general. That was a theme she could always open a little, like a Pandora box, but it would quickly shut down forever. 

But that night, J let down his guard for a bit. It was noticeable that the truth about him got deep to the core of his being. It struck him hard. 

She was stroking his hair carefully, humming a nice tune. She always kept doing it during one of those nights when none of them could get some sleep; she sang, played with a rhythm. It was soothing and at the same time playful. Always made him smile. Even if the smile was practically printed across his young face. 

"I feel nothing", J spoke sternly. He moved away from her and looked at her face, admiring her features. 

"J, it's normal to feel like this. I think", she answered back, turning to face him more comfortably. 

He raised a brow. "You think?" 

"Ah, J", she huffed loudly. "You're grieving. You lost your mother. Found out your father is not your father. It's... distressing. I get that."

"There's nothing to get, dolly", he replied in a cold tone. "I'm not who I thought to be. And isn't that fine? Isn't that what I wanted?"

She looked at him, confused by his words, as she'd sometimes be. He was never quite easy to decipher. 

"What do you mean, J?" 

He took a strand of her hair in his hand, twirling it around his index finger, staring it down intently.

"It doesn't matter, dear", he brushed off. "It's not of any important matter. Just my ramble." 

It was quiet for some time after that. She didn't know how to deal with this, knowing fully well this wasn't a reasonable nor adequate response to the close member of a family dying. But did any of the circumstance involving J ever seem normal?

It was worth a try. 

"Do you want us to talk about your mother?" she asked, her voice going thin and quiet. 

"Don't do this, dolly. _Please_ ", J retorted. 

"I was just trying to show support, J. I am...", she paused, unsure of what to say. "I don't know how to comfort you." 

"Who says you need to comfort me?" he asked peacefully. 

"I want to", came her response. "And I think you need it. Seriously." 

He offered her a light smile. "You being here is already... comforting. It's enough, alright?" 

She nodded. "If you say so." 

"Of course I do. I am fine. Nothing gets to me, really. Now come here", he said, opening his arms for her and pulling her in. 

She positioned her head in the crook of his neck and breathed his scent in. His warm skin welcomed her home. 

"You know, if there's something you would like to share with me - discuss with me - be it a part of your past or your emotions", she heard him snort at that, "you can. I won't judge. You know I never do." 

"Yes, I know about your tendency to be honest", he said back. "I respect it. But I think it had all ended for me long time ago, when I left. There's no need to carry on with the past, dolly." 

She nodded again, holding his body tighter to her own. She was asleep in a second, absolutely calmed beside him. 

J, on the other hand, told her his first lie. He didn't forget nor he could; he had a plan. He waited for her to encounter the world of dreams deeply, and then he sneaked out of the bed and moved in the direction of the kitchen. There he found what he was looking for: her switchblade. She had one in case a burglar broke in, taking into account this wasn't an overly safe neighbourhood. 

J examined it for awhile. It had a purple handle - one of the colours she liked most. Her initials were engraved at the end of it. It made him feel warm; the thought she would personalise a potential weapon like this was just her style. 

The blade was pretty sharp; J knew it would be of a good use to him tonight. He'd pay some personal debts of his own. And of his mother's. To repay her for his own selfishness which caused them to seperate instead of unite. 

_You have his anger_.

One of the last things she told him. Like if it was a warning. Of what he could become if he goes the other way, the wrong way. 

_What could you become, J? What?_

He dressed up quickly, took the keys and left her apartment as fast as he could. He was the man on a mission. And he knew who and _how_ they had to pay. 

* * *

The night was cold, without trace of wind. A tall figure was rushing through the small valleys, making its way to one certain street, aiming for one certain house. 

J kept a hood over his hair, to avoid suspicious glances and curious questions from strangers. However, in this hour only the hookers and their clients with equally questionable preferences were out, hidden in the shadows. Gotham was a city of chaos; unstable, obscure, defenseless and indestructible for itself. 

And J was thrilled by the idea of chaos. 

Tim jumped at the sound of door opening. Moving swiftly downstairs, he grabbed a bat and listened. Jimmy's gang was after him, although they had already charged the price for the fake delivery. 

A single man stood in the middle of the room. Nobody else. Tim's breathing quickened. As if he felt the house owner's presence, the man looked up to see Tim standing on the staircase. 

"Good evening", a voice spoke. 

Tim lowered down the bat. "J?" 

"Ahm." 

Tim walked down and towards him. He seemed relieved to see him, and not those he feared to be. 

"What are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me!" he said, but chuckled and clapped his shoulder twice. 

J smirked a little, but pushed his hand away. Tim's facial expression fell. 

"I need you to make a phone call for me."

"What?" Tim asked, confused.

"I need you to call Jimmy." 

Tim shrieked, eyes growing wide with fear. "No! No, no, J, no!"

He moved away from J, stumbling on his way. J ran forward and grabbed Tim's shirt, pulling him to his feet. 

"You have to..." 

"No, J!" Tim screamed, kicking his arms, but J didn't let go; his grip only became tighter. 

"I won't call him! He wants me dead, don't you get it?" 

"I thought he already took what he needed", J whispered, his voice turning emotionless. 

Tim stared at him. J's eyes watched him with a cruel satisfaction. He enjoyed this. 

He tried to push him off, but J's body was stronger. Much stronger than before. 

"Ah-ta-ta-ta. You're not going anyway. And to be sure of it...", J threatened, looking for something in his pocket. His lips smacked together when he found it. 

Tim gasped when he felt something cold, sharp on the skin of his throat. 

"... we'll put this lovely little thing here. Nothing fancy. Just a switchblade." 

His free hand darted to another pocket. Tim dared not to look; he couldn't. J's grip was hard and steady. Most importantly, calm. Like a hold of a professional killer. 

"Now", J started strictly. "I will give you this phone and you will be a good man - for once - and call your dear friend. And when he picks up, you will make an appointment with him."

"J...", Tim pleaded. 

"I don't care what you have to tell him. Think of something. Lie", J licked his lips. "Just convince him of your decision to make it up to him. Clear?" 

"J-J...", Tim breathed. 

J pressed the blade deeper. "Clear?" 

"Yes", Tim nodded. "Yes, J. I'll call him." 

J grinned widely and let go. Tim rubbed his throat when J offered him a phone and he took it. Tim examined it: the disposable phone. J was serious about this. He looked at him terrified, but was met with eyes so dark he backed away. 

"Make it quick."

Jimmy wasn't surprised, J could tell, judging by Tim's face. He expected Tim to call, to beg for forgiveness. 

But he agreed for them to meet. He wanted to discuss certain things with Tim, set some boundaries in their business relationship. 

Finishing the call, Tim handed the phone to J. But J refused it, ordering him to toss it on the floor. Which Tim, even more confused, eventually did. 

"Why do you want me to meet with Jimmy? What use is it to you?" 

J chuckled. "Ah, no, no. It won't be you he'll be meeting with tomorrow. It will be **me**." 

"You? Why...?" his eyes widened at the realization. "No, J. Let it be. Your mother is gone. You can't bring her back."

J groaned, punching the bookshelf with his fists. It broke in no second, the pieces falling down. 

"J..." 

He turned to him. "You won't tell me what to do! Not anymore!" 

He launched forward, pushing him in the wall and trapping him there with his own weight. Tim tried to put up a fight, but it was no use. 

"You are nothing to me! You are not my father! You are nothing!" he screamed in his face. "I hate you! I despise you! I loathe you!" 

"J... please...", Tim whined. 

"P-p-please?" J mimicked, laughing out loud. 

"Don't be... argh... a monster, J... please", Tim struggled as J kept pressing him. 

"Monster? I'm a monster here?" J laughed even louder, his expression quickly fading to serious. "You raised a monster, _father_. You are the one guilty for this." 

J pulled a switchblade out again. The click was heard and it popped out. He pointed at his scars, drawing a smile in the air. 

"See? You've done this", he said darkly. 

"I'm sorry, J. I'm sorry", Tim replied. "I don't know what'd gotten into me that night."

"Alcohol, perhaps?" J offered.

"The point is...", Tim began. "Don't kill me, J. Please. You don't need that on your conscience."

"I think I can handle it." 

"No, J. You can't. It will destroy you." 

"Ha!" J exclaimed. "I guess people show their real selves when they're about to die, hm?"

Tim gulped. "No, J. We don't devour our demons, J. They do it for us."

J gave it a thought. Tim almost hoped, when he felt the blade stick to his throat. 

He didn't say anything, just stared back at J horrified to the core of his being. And then, there was a torn sound and a splash of liquid red. His body fell lifelessly to the floor. 

"Say hello to Devil, father." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo .... J's first kill.  
> He's slowly transforming into a villain we all love. 
> 
> ;-)


	5. "I want to keep faith, but you're making it harder"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go with another song!  
> It's called Killing Me To Love You by Vancouver Sleep Clinic (it's amazing, check it out). 
> 
> While Snuff was used more of to show J's personal struggles and emotions, Killing Me To Love You is used here to show her reluctance once J's transformation becomes outwardly visible, making her question what she knows about him. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning she woke up alone. J was not there to be seen, but a body print on bed assured her he didn't leave. 

Getting up from a warm bed to salute the cold winter day (and equally freezing floor), she made her way to the small kitchen of hers, in the back of the apartment. Not woken up fully, she first believed to be still dreaming when she heard a cheerful singing coming from there. She peeked in, intrigued, only to see J standing in front of the oven and swaying his hips a little to some unknown song playing in silly head of his. Although it was cute to see him like this (and completely out of ordinary for someone like him), she couldn't help but to wonder why was he acting the way he was. Especially given the occasion; a day after he found out of his mother's death, and J dances in the kitchen while... wait. 

_He's making breakfast?_

She was stunned. He never made a meal for the two of them; actually, he tried once and it wasn't good. At all. Since then, she had forbidden him to cook anything, claiming the poor choice of supplies they already had was not to put up for a waste. 

_Oh God, something's definitely wrong._

"J? Darling?" she asked, moving closer to him. 

J turned around, still humming. A wide grin spread across his face when he saw her. He grabbed a rag and quickly cleaned his hands. He then reached out for her hips and pulled her to his chest. Standing there, trapped in an embrace of her favourite person in the world, she tried to make sense of his odd behaviour. But she couldn't find any to justify it. 

He let go of her and, rushing his hands through his greasy hair, offered her a nice smile, the one he had reserved just for her eyes to see. She, however, furrowed her brows in concern. 

"J, is everything alright?" 

He snorted amusingly. "Of course it is, dolly. Why it wouldn't be? It's a really nice day we have today", he replied, pointing at the window. 

Sunshine was clearly seen on the smudged windows. But it didn't hold her interest for too long, even if the Sun wasn't an usual phenomenon in the winter season in Gotham. 

"Is everything all right with _you_ , dolly?" he asked, his tone hitting that playful higher octave when he was in the good mood. 

She waved her head. "J, I don't think this is a common reaction to a parent passing away." 

His smile faded, but his eyes still shared a fierce look with her own. His body tensed just a bit, but she knew he didn't like the answer. They had agreed on not mentioning anything of the recent events, even if it all happened a day ago. 

"J, look, I am sorry but...", she looked away from him, closing her eyes, "I don't think this is a healthly reaction. That's all." 

He huffed, letting his head down and pressing their noses together. She didn't open her eyes. He rubbed her nose softly, chuckling a little while doing it. It didn't make her smile; nor it made her open those lovely eyes of hers. The eyes he loved to watch. 

"Ahh, dolly", he murmured close to her lips. "You're doing a lot of 'not thinking'." 

Her eyes snapped open. 

"Are you seriously doing that again? In the moment like this?" 

"Moment like what?" he retorted. 

"I'm trying to comfort you, to reach out to you, but you're not letting me", she said. "And you're making some not-so-funny comments while I'm being serious." 

"I remember saying last night that you do not need to comfort me?" 

She stirred shyly, eyes looking down. Her sudden unability to show her boldness made him chuckle even a bit more. It was amusing to push her buttons every once in awhile. 

"And what else did I say last night? Hm?" he nudged her. "Come on, dolly. I know you can remember it." 

"J, stop it", she spoke, but he caught a glimpse of smile in the corner of her pinkish mouth. 

"A-a. Not till I get what I want." 

"Uff, fine. You said... you said..."

J stared at her adamantly. "I said...?"

"You said that me being here is already comforting to you", she blushed, closing her eyes again. 

J clapped. "That's it!", circling around her, he took two plates out of the cupboard. "Now, let's enjoy a lovely breakfast I prepared for us." 

"You made breakfast? Oh, I hoped I was just hallucinating", she laughed and gave him a wink. 

J rolled his eyes, but shared a smirk. "I did my best. And I believe this time I really outdone my cooking skills!" 

"You barely have any", she responded. 

Plates in hands, and smiles on their lips, they made their way to the living room. J jumped onto the sofa, causing her to whine out of complain that she can't manage another piece of furniture. J only patted the spot next to him as an answer and she gladly accepted it. Snuggling closer to him, she took a bite of suspiciously brown toast. It was actually pretty good to eat. She stared at him in disbelief. He mouthed _See?_ and kept on eating himself, chewing on his food rather too loud for her to bear (she was always insufferably allergic to noises of any kind). She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed a remote, turning on the TV. And there it was; the breaking news of Gotham. 

"Last night GCPD received an urgent call from a panicking anonymous citizen", the speaker started. "Soon enough, in the old house settled in an insecure neighbourhood was discovered an eeriely disformed body, throat cut open. The weapon of the attack was not found. It is quite possible that the attacker knew the person. The Sergeant James Gordon stated that the person behind the murder clearly came to the house with the plan. Adding to that, this kind of a crime hasn't been seen for years in Gotham." 

She looked at J, visibly disturbed by the news. Murders weren't such an uncommon thing in Gotham, but they mostly happened between the various gangs and drug dealers. To see a crime committed in the name of a passionate hatred (what else would cause such a horrifying treatment?) was _new_. 

He didn't look at her; his eyes were focused on the TV icon of Tim's body. J was staring at it, remembering what he did last night. How he changed one whole aspect of his personality to fit into another one created by himself. He was planning this for the vengence of his mother, since his psyche was now reopened with his guilt. He always hated his father; but now with him gone, there was no emotion held for his once existence, leaving J completely numb. 

"The identity of the deceased person is Tim...", speaker's voice lost itself in the void.

"J. J!" 

He woke up from his trance and shivered. Feeling a bit disoriented, he gave her a look, the confusion evident on his young face. 

She stared equally dumbfounded at him. 

"J, what the hell is going on with you today?" she asked worryingly. 

"Nothing", he stated. "Give me those", he said and took the plates.

Marching after him to the kitchen, where he seemingly threw himself onto washing the dishes, she stood quietly and waited for him to notice her. She knew that he felt her presence, but his insistent commitment to the chores left her out of words. There is no way for her to grant an access to his mind. 

His mind. _Is it scattered with thoughts he cannot voice out? Is there any danger to me if I stay with him?_

He started humming again as the water splashed his shirt. His hips swayed a bit at the rhythm. His body relaxed down. 

_No. Not him. He couldn't hurt me._

Although she was worried for his mental health, she didn't tend to push it any longer. It was probably a side effect of his sadness. They will be okay. 

So she didn't say anything, didn't warn him of anything; she just hugged him. Non intently, pressing her right hand over his heart. He felt that. And he knew what it beat for. 

"It's okay, J", she whispered in his back. "We'll be okay. Everything will fall into its place."

He smirked, and she couldn't see it. 

_Oh, it will._

Somewhere far away from their apartment, at the other end of the city, Jimmy paced around his secret lair. He was nervous. He felt something was strange in the air when Tim called him last night, after he created such an unfair exchange between them. But he accepted his need for their appointment because, let's be honest, he was running out of business. It's not easy to be a criminal in Gotham, since you always have to compete with other criminals who are far more successful and far more creative in what they do. 

But then he heard of Tim's death. Murder, to be exact. And he knew it wasn't his fault because he didn't rig the charges. It was somebody else. Somebody who knew Tim was only the hook. Somebody who was after him. 

He shook at the thought of having his throat cut open. Whoever did this wasn't afraid of doing it again. 

He had to protect himself. 

"Russ, gather the rest of the guys", he whispered in the phone. "Meet me tonight at the shelter. At 8pm. We need to hurry." 

* * *

They all stood silent in the shadows, trying to figure out where was the voice coming from. It was muffled, hidden in the dark, but undoubtedly young. And oddly familiar. 

Jimmy shook with fear. Turning around and glancing at every angle of crowded room, his paranoid mind betraying him completely. 

"Who is there?" Jimmy let out shakily. 

Somebody was laughing; but it was a fake, mocking laugh. Haunted by the echo of old pipes in the 'shelter', sounding like the choir of demons saluting them on the Hell's gate. 

Russ and the rest of the guys felt the boss' uneasiness; it had no good influence on them. They were huge, intimidating fellas; but not even this kind of circumstance helped their criminal senses. They knew what it means when someone goes after another: it results in bloodshed. 

"WHO IS THERE?" Jimmy yelled into the air. He already prepared his loaded gun and held it tightly near the belt. 

More laughing was heard. It seemed like the unknown person had a very good time, playing with him like this. It drove Jimmy mad. 

"Now, no need to shout", the voice replied. The person was wearing a mask, it was clear. Whoever it was, he didn't want his identity to be found out. At least for now. 

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. "Who are you? What do you want?" 

Chuckle. "Stay calm and be steady; it will be over soon." 

Jimmy's eyes grew wide. He trembled. 

"Over soon?" he repeated. "If you are going to kill me, at least tell me why! Show who you are!" 

"Is that fear I'm sensing?" the voice spat back. "Are you going to whine like a stray dog out on the streets in the middle of the night? You know, Gotham is full of terrors. You might want to watch your back." 

"W-what...? I don't get it. I don't understand!" Jimmy screamed, taking gun out of the holster. 

"Taking weapon out already? Pfft", the voice sounded almost disappointed. "I guess time has gone out, then."

A hard jolt was heard and the explosion went off. 

It wasn't an overly powerful explosion to kill them all, but rather to disable and disorient them for a moment and potentially cause a minor harm. Cops will be here soon anyways; they'll get captured and then... wherever the fate may take them. 

No. He was here for only one man. 

And he found him in the pile of dirt and ash, coughing all the remained air in the lungs. Shoving him with his foot, Jimmy landed onto his back and stared back at the figure before him. 

A tall man with a face covered in the clown mask. And a pretty visible switchblade in his right gloved hand. He bended over Jimmy. 

"If you're not such a coward, show yourself", Jimmy panted, weak. "Show who you are, please." 

The figure gave it a thought. Not for long, though; it took him only a minute or two to decide on it. The mask fell off, joining to the atoms of dust on the ground. 

Jimmy looked at the person, horrified by the view of a scarred flesh. 

"Unpleasantly surprised, aren't ya?" J said, smiling. The small of the light that sparkled both sides of his face made him look even more terrifying. 

Jimmy gulped, his eyes darting all over him. "J..." 

"Hm, this?" he pointed at his scars. "Don't flatter yourself; not your boys' doing." 

Jimmy stared at him in shock, unable to formulate any words. J found this lack of verbal reaction a real treat; and funnily amusing to his being. 

Jimmy's lips parted in an insecure manner. J took notice of his known feature. Reaching out a hand, he brushed Jimmy's chin lightly. 

"Oh, your golden teeth", he hummed sweetly, offering an innocent smile. 

Jimmy stammered. "J... p-please..." 

"You know, my father did the same thing you're doing right now. He begged", J spat out, gritting his teeth. "He begged to be spared, and I did not obey his wishes." 

Jimmy stirred in silence, trying to crawl away from him, but J gripped his chin much stronger. 

"Ta-ta-ta. Don't move, _Jimmy boy_ ", J hissed. "What makes you think you're going to be obeyed? When we both know. What. You. Had. Done." 

"J... I..."

"Silence!" 

Jimmy quivered. He lowered his gaze. It only pissed J off furthermore. 

"Look at me!" 

Jimmy obeyed. This wasn't the boy he met months ago; no, this was a different kind of evil. A monster born. 

J started laughing lowly for a minute. It was barely to hear. Then he finally looked up at Jimmy and brought closer his - _hers_ \- switchblade, pressing it to his neck skin.

"See, when I said you needed to watch your back...", J said, snorting a bit, unable to hide his urge to laugh. "I _sincerely_ meant that you should have taken care of your front side too. You know, it's easy. To. Cut." 

"J... No..." 

He pulled the knife over Jimmy's soft skin, tastefully, letting it dance its way through the flesh. He _finished him off_.

The body slid down to the ground, the blood sinking out and mixing with the dusty smell. 

"The joke's on you, Jimmy", J smiled back, getting up and shaking the dust off his pants. 

He quickly left the crime scene, the police dogs and sirens already heard in the background. 

* * *

It was almost midnight, and with every second passing by, she grew more anxious. J usually never came late deep in the night; only that one time when he learned a harsh truth about his family. (She didn't notice him leave that night when Tim died - he managed to keep it a very well hidden secret.) 

She woke up somewhere around 10pm, only to see J not sleeping next to her. Well, he had never been too much of a sleeper, and could last days without any sleep, but she knew he slept that night near her. She felt his warm presence, twirled his curly hair and kissed his forehead more than once to assure him of... she didn't even know what. Was there anything J had to be assured of? 

He was nice, silly at times, great lover. But he had something locked in the mind of his, darkness laying beneath those sharp eyes. He wasn't scary to her. She met a side of him that was too likeable, too innocent. 

Sitting on the couch, counting the minutes down, she was struck with the realization. They never defined what they were. They never claimed the feelings they held for each other - if there were any, other than desire and comfortability of being supported by the other person. 

They only met. And they just stayed together. She knew they both cared for one another; but what was the correct name of the sensation they both felt? Was it a simple crush? A possible liking? Long-term loneliness turned into... love? 

"Why are you up this late, dolly?" 

Her head snapped in the direction of a voice. J stood in the doorway, leaning on it with one hand. His hair was full of dust, but it didn't catch her attention for long. It was the sight of blood that caught her off guard. 

J's shirt. Sprinkled in dried blood. 

She jumped off the couch immediately, rushing to his side. He was panting, like he had been running. From what? From whom? 

"For the love of God, I was worried to death! What happened to you? Why did you leave the apartment? What are you doing, J?!" she said, breathless. 

He only offered her a small chuckle. One arm grabbed her lower back and pushed her closer to him, gently. His lips made a rhythm with her own, swiftly eating her out. She gave in. But as soon as she pulled the ends of his shirt, she let go of him, coming back to her senses and reality. 

He slowly opened his eyes, huffing. She felt him relaxed beside her, saw the excitement in his pupils. He seemed very much easy-going, almost relieved.

"J, you're going down the wrong path", she whispered, placing her palms on his broad chest. 

"I'll be fine; don't worry your little, sweet self", he replied, brushing her skin softly with his tender fingers. 

He pulled her in the deeper embrace before she could ask him anything else. He knew there are gonna be a lot of questions asked from her, but right now he only cared to keep her as close as he could. He buried his lips and nose in her hair; it smelled like fruits. It calmed him down. It gave him something solid to hold on. 

Now that he lost everything connected to his former life. 

Now that he found a new piece of his personality that suited him well. 

Now that he killed. 


	6. "I'm reaching out now, but you're pulling me under"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two next chapters will be a small series of changes in J's personality. Our female main role will finally start questioning what she knows about him. Will she leave J? Or will she be stopped by sudden confession?

She hadn't noticed the change in him at first, but now she did. 

Tiny, almost invisible to the eye, changes that made J seem more dominant, confident and self-assured. He was still gentle and nice towards her. But there was something growing inside him; a spark of a crimson fire that still didn't break out of his lungs. 

She knew there was _something_. Must had been _something._

It still didn't scare her enough at the time. 

* * *

One of the primary signs something went off was the switchblade. More precisely, the lack of it. 

She was cooking lunch for both of them, after another long day of J trying to find a job (nobody wanted him due to his 'strange' condition) and coming home rather disappointed and severely alienated by the fact of his physical appearance. She wanted to ease things for him, feeling a bit startled of the depth of how her heart sank when she saw him, face saddened. It didn't help him looking kind of grotesquely because of the lines of his scars, ironically mocking his life situation.

She knew he was broken. Because of many reasons; not just him getting bullied by his stepfather his whole life, of which he had learned it to be a massive lie, or his mother dying and him not getting a chance to say goodbye and talk about his real origin. No, there was that rejection pursued by others. 

He would never admit that, though. It pained him to some extent, it did; but was it important anymore? Was it necessary? 

No. It wasn't. And it will never be again. 

However, the day was rolling on and she made it her duty to make him feel the best she can. So she prepared all the meals she was pretty good at cooking; and for a final touch, she just needed that can of cream opened. The knives she pulled out of the squeaky cupboards were good for nothing; she knew she'll have to get rid of them. Luckily enough, there was that purple switchblade she previously intended for a protection use, but since she had nothing better... 

Until she found out it was not there where it was supposed to be hidden. Well, J did know about her possession of it, but she explained what it's serving for. What it could serve for if somebody dares break in. She was never the type of a girl to shy away when a trouble comes. 

_That's probably why I took him in_ , she thought to herself, shooting a quick glance at J. He was resting on the couch, eyes closed and calm breathing. 

Where was it? She didn't remember moving it. Or using it. Could he had taken it? 

She glanced in his direction again. He was still laying there, but now his eyes were open and breathing sharpened. As if he sensed something didn't work right. 

That made her pick up her courage and she asked, bluntly: "J, have you seen my switchblade? You know, the personalized one with purple handle I told you about? I need it to open some..." 

She stood, shocked when she heard the click and saw J casually waving it left and right. 

"This one, dolly face?" he graced a smile. 

She silently nodded, too lost of the words to speak clearly. Why was it with him? When did he take it? 

J moved closer, still smiling widely although it was visible he was dragging his body. He was completely out of shape and tired. He didn't sleep for three days straight. 

"I'll help ya in the kitchen, beauty", he whispered in her ear, leaning to place a soft kiss on her neck. "Can't let you cut yourself on the spiky pieces, can I now?" 

He walked to the kitchen, leaving a trail of hummings behind her back. Even if he came back in a foul mood, he definitely had another stuff on his mind. Stuff that made him happy. Or at least optimistic. 

She turned around, mouth slightly open and lips trembling of the sudden dread. She followed his way to the kitchen, unable to make a word come out. 

What the hell was going on with J? 

* * *

Days passed and everything seemed to go back to their type of normal, but they still hadn't discussed the sensitive topic of his whereabouts few nights ago (when he left to kill Jimmy) or the short, but impactful scene of her stolen switchblade. 

He didn't hand it back to her. He didn't return it, nor did he say anything, explain anything. He simply took it back when she was over with can opening, and she was too stunned to ask him to give it back or place it where it used to be. 

She only didn't know what was he using it for. 

One lazy afternoon, her and J were laying on the bed together, sun washing over their squeezed forms. Her head on his chest, listening to the dance of his heartbeat; it always beat rapidly, never slowing down. She supposed his mind to do the same - to be like a race with many directions, and he chooses among many various options, always coming back to the start to try all over again. He was in control of himself. He knew how to handle his moods.

She tried to keep up with J, impressed by him. Everything he'd do, she approved of. She accepted it. If only she knew she was lonely for so long she didn't notice things are getting out of control for both of them. 

"You like purple, don't you?" he spoke, caressing her left arm up and down. 

"I do", she breathed, taking in his smell. "But why do you ask?" 

"Why wouldn't I? You prefer it over any else colour or?" 

"J, I don't see the point of this", she yawned, shifting more comfortably and more closer to his neck. 

He chuckled at her attempt to conquer him, but didn't stop her. Cocking his head, he let her kiss along his neck. She left a hickey or two before looking up at him. J arched his eyebrows, watching her intently. 

"So? Made up your mind about the colour?" 

"As I said; don't see the point." 

That earned her another chuckle from him. 

"Is there a need to have a point? Is there a need to prove anything?" he laughed that higher octave she loved. "Now, the colour?" 

"I like all colours. Don't have a favourite", she said, her forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. "But if I'm to choose... let's go with green." 

"Green?" he repeated. 

"Green." 

He nodded in understanding, pulling her down again. She didn't find the sense of the question; it came completely out of blue. At first, she associated 'the purple question' with the switchblade. She hoped he'll open a conversation about it, explain his reasons for taking it. But he didn't. 

_It would be simple just to ask him, right?_ , she battled inside herself. Then why didn't she do it? What was stopping her from making it all come out clear? 

_What if I lose him? If I ask him, and he gets angry for interfering?_

J liked keeping things to himself. She always let him do it. Why not letting him do it still? It always worked for them. He kept her happy and satisfied, she kept him happy and satisfied. 

They laid down like that for what seemed to be forever. She was content with it. Until he asked her to move over and claimed he needed to get some work done. Giving her a peck on the lips, he promised to be home early. With that, he left. 

She heard the front door open and close. She didn't get up; only crawled onto the spot of the bed his body used to lay minutes ago. Burying her head in the pillow, feeling his velvety scent. And she smiled. 

_What if I love him?_

* * *

J came back that night early as he promised. She waited for him, lurking in the shadows of the living room as she intended to give him a scare. How it turned out, she ended up being the most surprised. 

J was standing at the entrance of the room. She noticed he was wearing new clothes: linen pants and a T-shirt. Both unusual for him to wear. But that wasn't what knocked her out of tact. 

He was dressed in _purple_. From head to toes he was covered in purple layers of clothing. 

"What do you think, dolly? It fits me, doesn't it?" he grinned. "Comes in hand with the switchblade."

"You've got new clothes?" she asked in astonishment while he rolled his eyes at her obviousness and laughed lightly. 

His look met with hers for a mere second. She stood awkwardly in front of him, constantly eyeing him up and down. He saw it: doubt and uneasiness behind her lovely eyes. The big question written in them, but yet not asked. 

"Obviously, I have."

"I - I really don't know what to say, J." 

He frowned at her response. She could tell he didn't expect that. 

"I see", he spoke, passing her by. 

She heard a thud and turned around. J laid stretched out on the sofa. Only then she noticed a black bag laying next to him. Somehow she knew what was in there. 

"Is there a whole lot of new purple clothes?" she said, approaching him cautiously like a cat. 

J didn't look at her, waving his head in painfully slow motion. She sighed. One of her hands brushed against his skin, and she felt his body tensing up. She didn't anger him. But offended him? Surely did. 

"I apologise, J", her voice sounded thin. "But you have to admit, this is... new." 

He turned his head to her. "New?"

"Unexpected." 

"Is it?" he retorted, turning to her full body-front. "Is anything really unexpected when you basically don't exist? Life is unpredictable, and it's a play. Don't dwell on it. Right now, Gotham is in the preparation stage." 

"What are you talking about, J? What nonexistence? What preparation stage? Why new clothes, _all in goddamn purple_?" she said, raising her voice. "Why so many secrets between us?" 

She stared at him, but it wasn't a stern look he would expect from anyone. The tone of her voice didn't match the desperation in her eyes. 

J didn't want to bear it. That type of sorrow wasn't acceptable. And it didn't suit her entirely. 

So he gave her the softest, brightest smile. 

"It's nothing, dolly", he spoke gently. "All my babbling around, making nonsense. I am just in search for... a personality. That's it - nothing else." 

She nodded, unsure. A palm of hers made its way to J's cheek. Scars weren't noticeable to her anymore; she had grown so used to them, that she forgot what a person's normal face looked like. 

She had grown too used to him being here. Present, and always miles apart. 

"Is it settled now, dolly? No need for me to worry wholly?" he sang, his voice softening to a whisper. She smiled a little. 

"You just rhymed that." 

J chuckled. "Hm, did I? Haven't noticed." 

"You crazy moron", she smiled wider and grabbed his wrist, drawing circles on his skin. It was what calmed her down. 

"But, J, on the serious side... why the clothes? I mean, I like how you look in purple, but... what's the point of it?" 

"You like it", he responded calmly.

She blinked, confused. "You dressed up to look like an eggplant because you wanted me to like it?"

A moment of silence fell upon them as their eyes met. She was looking at him, nervously pulling the thread of the couch. 

"An eggplant?" J asked seriously. 

And then both her and J burst out laughing. 

"That's a terrible joke", she said. 

"Oh, I wouldn't consider that a joke", J admitted. "But it's terrible, yes." 

She pushed him lightly, tears falling down her pale cheeks. J returned the favour by taking her hands in his, massaging them with a care. 

That's what he loved. Gazing in her eyes. Finding refuge in the constellations of her stars. Being a black hole to her light. 

J kept watching her as she laughed, discovering all the parts of her he didn't know of. Reasons why he kept coming back to her, after all the things he's done. 

_Is she enough?_

* * *

Hours later, after their quarrel was over, J tried to justify his regular absence in the past few months, knowing she won't let go of it easily. But he didn't think of admitting the murders.

No, that was off the table. 

The only thing he could tell her was that it's all meant for the job he got; an opportunity to make some money too. He didn't say what type of job it precisely was, however. Only claimed that it will pay off. 

He didn't tell her of his future plans either. Nor did he say he'll bring some nicer news. 

No, these plans were still very much forming and perfecting in his mind. 

"The job's going to be really fun." 

"What, you're gonna be a clown at kids' birthday parties?" she replied playfully. 

He snorted at that. "Sure. And I'll use the switchblade to cut a piñata." 

"Just to let you know, most clowns aren't dressed in purple." 

"Not my problem you picked the colour."

"What? How could I do that?" 

"Well, if your switchblade wasn't purple in the first place, I wouldn't choose it then." 

She laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "I had it long before you came in the picture. Besides, you should be grateful. Purple is a royal colour." 

"Ah, I should consider myself lucky." 

"You forgot, I also chose the green as well", she interrupted. "And I don't see any green." 

"That does remind me, doll!" he exclaimed, jumping off the bed.

She picked her head up a bit to see what was he up to again. Digging through drawers, J seemed to be in a deep search for something. He shouted joyfully when he found it, turning to her with a grin on his face. He was holding a small box in his hands. 

"What's that, J?" 

He swayed his hips. "You said you want the green too? Here, take it!" 

She let out a low-pitched scream as a box landed in her direction. J laughed briefly before sitting on the bed next to her. 

"What in the world-", she started, going silent when she noticed what was written over it. "Green hair dye?" 

She looked at him puzzled. He still had that grin on his face. 

"You want me to dye your hair?" 

He nodded. "If you'd do me the honour." 

"Green?" 

"Green." 

* * *

She was very careful with the hair dye. And surprisingly skilled with it. 

J was watching her every move, how delicately she tamed his curls, massaging his scalp in doing so. 

The end product was just... perfect. As was she. 

And he knew that finally. He cherished her smallest efforts to keep him going. 

He finally knew. 

"I love you", he whispered. 

"I love you too", she replied. 

* * *

J was changing. For the best, as she thought. 

Oh, how wrong she was, how wrong she was. 

She noticed the cracks, but didn't see the monster crawling out from the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the middle part of the chapter is a bit of a letdown. I don't know. Maybe my muse didn't want to work with me on this one.  
> I was writing and rewriting it (the chapter was supposed to be shorter than it is); but as I said, something's blocked me this month.  
> Stay positive and I hope you're all well! 
> 
> P. S. I know that eggplant joke was terrible, and J knows it too. (I wanted to show the sweet side of him before he gets completely off his rocker, only enjoying the small moments with her while he still has them; also, I wanted to show a clumsy side of her).


	7. "I give you my heart just to watch you waste it"

TWO YEARS LATER 

_I love you._

_I love you too._

Words seemed to be said thousands of years ago, but still held the meaning. Although it was the first and the last time she heard him say it. 

It was all so vivid in her mind, so reachable, that she couldn't help but wonder how did two years fly away quickly. 

Once the words were freed from their hearts, spoken out loud for both of them to know, there was no denying that the love grew stronger. 

But now it hurt. Now it was deeper, caging-like, and much more scarier than love ever seemed to be. And, oh, so lonesome. 

His love was here, however; in every possible action of his. He was still nice to her, gentle in the night. He would kiss her, fiercely than ever, hold her against his warm body. 

He was still here, but something else found its place in there too, in his heart. Something she didn't know how to interpret and didn't even want to. 

Her positive attitude, her happy self was gone. 

It was funny in some aspect, at least; the more happier and enthusiastic he seemed to appear, the more sadness and negativity seemed to bottle up inside her tired soul. 

She could had left him, couldn't she? She didn't need to bother with all the fuss and mystery that sparkled around him. 

She could had left. 

No. She could not. 

Because it was the sense of loneliness she always carried around, wherever she went, that she didn't want to come back. 

With J it finally looked like she discovered a destiny. A promise. An invitation to no rejection. 

She might had felt lonely even in his presence, even by his absence at some days and nights; but it was always easier because she knew he'll come back. 

She risked accepting a bit of lilith emotions if she could feel lovable when he'd return home to her. When she could be loved by him. 

It didn't matter that she didn't like what she saw in the mirror. Or what she felt. 

It didn't matter how the more J grew bigger in his person, the less she tried not to stay in his shadow.

Oh, how dangerous his love was. Oh, how much energy it sucked out of her well-being. 

Who would know love can be such a venomous thing. 

* * *

The job J accepted two years ago promised a lot at the beginning. Well, assuming of his joyful storytelling and an extravagant stash of money he'd bring home on a weekly basis was comfortably reassuring for their existence. 

But it all looked too perfect and smelled all too beautiful to be real. 

He didn't want to tell her what the job specifically was; no, he told her that there was no need to specify anything. 

She did rely on his reluctance of confirming it at first. But it took months and months of watching J leave almost every night and not coming back till the dawn. _That_ was happening quite often. _That_ made her wonder and worry (she found herself pacing anxiously around the apartment most of the time of J's absence, slowly becoming more and more sleep deprived). 

Because there was one explanation that was highly possible to be true, and she did not want to hear it or know it. 

Until one night he brought two pistols home. 

Freaked out by it, she demanded an answer about J's doings after it passed a full year of him having a new 'job'. She craved honesty and thought to handle everything he chooses to tell her. 

But it was not easy to handle. J admitted; he told her about the city mob gang he'd been hanging around with, the acts they were performing together. How the most of stuff he brought home were actual someone's personal belongings, and how unlucky that someone was to lose those priceless possessions. 

He was stealing. He was a _criminal_. 

He had never told her the names of those men he spent so much time with. They were only refered to as 'friends'. Judging by J's harsh accent and emphasis on the word, she knew he didn't consider them to be that exactly. 

J claimed he didn't like them overall, but they were a good start. A golden match. A guide for a beginner till he gets on with something far better. Something that would give him a meaning; not just an existential crisis reason, or an ordinary urge to make (steal) money to survive. 

He wanted chaos. He wanted to watch the world burn in its consuming affairs, suffocated by its own darkest needs. 

And that's why he started learning. About everything. It wasn't hard for him however; he always had that ability to pick up some knowledge easily. 

J mostly focused on the workings of various weaponry. For that he named one _"quirky, but very bright guy"_ who was specially gifted in balancing with all kinds of weapons, from little knives and daggers to bazooka and highest range explosives. That quirky, but very bright guy turned out to be a former military soldier, influenced by aggressive anger toward the country that sends all the healthly, young men to death and a great dose of PTSD. 

J practically behaved and talked about him as if he were a God. Maybe he was. A God to his beliefs. 

"You know you're my favourite, dolly", he spoke with a mischievious smirk on his face, probably noticing a hint of jealousy expressed on the tug of her lips. 

She'd laugh it nervously, messing his green hair with her hands, always making him look wildly than before. "I better be, J." 

What was stopping her from running away? 

Love? 

Loyalty? 

A sense of obligation? Of gratitude? 

No. 

It was him saying, "I'm doing this for us, dolly." 

* * *

It wasn't just the constructs of his personality that were falling down rapidly.

J picked up many bad habits along the way too; smoking, for example. (Which he used to hate a lot, thanks to his stepfather - a heavy drinker and smoker.)

Now it seemed to be a part of his 'routine', if he had any. 

"What's so special about smoking? You'll give yourself a lung cancer!" she protested every time he'd lit up a cigarette. 

"They burn." 

"What?" 

"The cigarettes, dolly", he'd stated, staring at her oh-so-innocently. "When you light them up... you have as far as you can before they fade away. See?" 

She frowned at the sight of ashes resting upon her new carpet (the one he stole too). 

"They disappear. You cannot create them from the ashes again", J kept on going further, his focus entirely shifting on one of his never-ending theories. "They are... catatonic. Chaotic." 

She crossed her arms. "I don't get it, J." 

"Ha-ha!" he jumped upwards in a second, circling around her tall frame. Both him and his scars smiling. "I knew you wouldn't, dol-ly." 

She let out a loud sigh. Luckily, he didn't notice; or maybe he just didn't care to take it into consideration. 

He was finding himself in bad places. He was creating somebody inside of his mind, somebody he didn't feel free to break out yet. 

* * *

J left in the morning. Much earlier than he ever needed to. 

Assuming he will not have returned till the deep of the night - perhaps even the dawn of the next day - she had decided to clean their apartment a bit. 

_Their._

It was long ago she stopped calling it hers. It was long ago she stopped seperating them as two different beings. 

She was addicted. To him, by him; it didn't matter. She let him become a life source, and the only thing that was deemed valuable. 

The worst part is, she knew it was wrong. 

Trying not to focus on these overwhelming thoughts, she turned on the TV. There was no better way to take a break from yourself than to pay attention to what was going out there in the world.

Yes, she liked to listen to the news. It made her feel connected to others; breaking her empathy free for the ones out there who were suffering greatly than she had ever had. 

Weird, guilty pleasure of hers. 

"Good morning, dear citizens of Gotham. Breaking news: the Brixman Family Jewelers has been robbed by a relatively new mob gang which is held responsible for many criminal doings in Gotham; this crime being the largest. Two security guards have been shot. To our great regret, we lost those two brave men due to fatal injuries. But their sacrifice will not be forgotten..." 

She glanced at TV, feeling a bit unsettled. In past two years Gotham did change. There were forming a lot of mob gangs, each working against the other. Sure, there were criminals even before, and mob gang killings happened quite a few times; but it never included the deaths of innocent civilians (especially not the security) or the robbing of the well-known companies. This era was producing something new, and nobody could expect any good from it (at least it was her personal opinion).

Gotham was her home. Its roots were embodied in her heart. Even in J's. If you were born here, lived here for long enough, Gotham's untamed nature settled with and within you. 

The young journalist was seen in front of the jewelry store, reporting about the accident, looking rather upset as her hands slightly shook. 

"Victoria, are there any indicators of who could the attackers be?" the news host spoke from his studio. 

The woman nodded. "Well, yes, there seem to be the witnesses. One man claimed to notice a group of four men, running two blocks away from where the robbery took place...", thin voice losing itself in the void. 

The talk went further, the said witness describing the height of the men and so on; then there was an exclusive interview with Sergeant Gordon, who mostly spoke about the statistics, taken jewelry and criminal profiles on which they were already working. (Although it seemed a lost battle, due to little bit of information they had about the gang.) 

It was nothing interesting, really. She didn't see the huge importance in the stolen jewelry, even if the suspicious thought made its way into the back of her mind and there it rested. 

She turned away from the TV, determined to focus more on cleaning and vacuuming, than listening to the news that somewhat depressed her at this point. But then they showed an excerpt of a talk with the witness, and it struck her hard: the man claimed the one robber to take off his mask, looking rather young. He was smiling and jumping up and down like he was on adrenaline, but that wasn't what made it curious enough to catch her attention. No, the witness mentioned a visible disfigurement on the young man's face, although he ran past him way too quickly to decipher what was it or what it looked like. 

But she knew. It was J. _Her_ J. 

And then came another shock, much harder to bear. 

They connected the young man with disfigured face to the gruesome murder that was committed two and a half years ago. She didn't know, but there was another witness too back then, a homeless man, who spoke about a tall man (seemingly young) with a hood over his head and hunched posture. The man described the scene he witnessed to; out of pure curiousity, he went by the near window to see what's happening ( _"Man, I mean, when ya see a hooded man walkin' in the middle of the night, ya know there's nothin' good gonna happen"_ ). The rest was already known to the police: heard screams, but very shallow and quickly silenced down, an older man with a deep, unevenly cut throat in a shape of a smile, bulging eyes with no life in them. 

And there was the other fact she'd simply missed before, since she wasn't too involved into the background of it. The pathologists came to a conclusion that the injury was made by a small weapon, possibly a little knife. 

_Switchblade._

And how did they know the murder held some connection with the man from today's news? 

_"The guy faced a window for a sec. But, man, didn't I notice the ugly scars... I can't tell what the rest of his face looked like, but the scars..."_

Her breathing haltened for a microsecond. The vase she was clutching at broke under the pressure of her whitened fingers. The glass connected with the naked floor and erupted in millions of tiny pieces. 

_Scars. J's scars._

Could it be? Could it be? 

The time went back in her mind as she kept remembering. The night he came home, bloodied; the disappearance of her switchblade only to be found in J's hands; his reaction to the news when the man's body was discovered... 

She didn't want to believe it, but it. Did. Make. Sense. It did connect all the dots. 

But he... couldn't be capable of murder? 

Could he? 

There was only one way for her to find out. 

* * *

It was noon already when she left the apartment in a hurry. Her whole body shaking, her eyes on the brink of tears. 

Luckily, she knew where to look to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt inspired by a theory of the Joker being a former military soldier with PTSD. That's why I wrote it here; J's 'teacher' being a soldier with crushed dreams and illusions, teaching him about military tricks and weapons. The relationship J has with the quirky, but very bright guy is not overly dived into for the sole purpose of moving story forward till the big ending (which is going to be spectacular, I promise).  
> But you can assume what kind of a friendship it was. The one feeding both of their thirsts for revenge and chaotic solutions.
> 
> P. S. Brixman Family Jewelers is borrowed from a TV show Gotham. While writing, I wondered if I should make up some name for the jewelry store or not so I googled. And then there was it. I decided to use it for this little piece, but I do not own it (like I don't own any DC character, except my OFC). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and I hope you're safe during this period of time. 
> 
> Lots of love from me, dolls ;-)


	8. "And I can't let go when you still need saving"

She found herself standing in front of the worn out house, unsure of what to say. She was basically preparing to accuse him of both murder and robbery, and even if some part of her was certain J was involved in it, she still kept holding onto a spark of hope that he wasn't going _that_ far, that he wasn't sinking _that_ deep. 

It felt like hours as she was standing out there, in the cloudy day, waiting. She was waiting for J to sense her presence, hoping he would immediately pop out of the house, getting a feeling of something being wrong. She wanted him to be ready to tell her the truth, to admit all the bad doings he committed as she knew everything between them went downhill. She needed J to fight for her as she cared enough to save him.

But now it also felt out of place. Him. Her. Them together. It just wasn't working anymore. 

But she also loved him entirely to just let him go, let them go. 

She will give him an ultimatum.

As the conflict in her kept raising, she took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door. 

There was no turning back. 

* * *

She knew where to look because J told her where their secret lair was. One of the small amount of things he decided to tell her. 

And he only _chose_ to tell her the position of the place in case something happened to him (or her). The other factor resulting in him telling her was her insisting urge to know where she could look for him if she grows more concerned. 

That's why she came here. 

She was beyond worried, for the first time in forever terrified by J's often odd behaviour, and met with a possibility of living with a murderer for years. 

"Well, well, what we got here, ha?" a mocking voice spoke as the door opened, throwing her out of the trans. "What's a beauty like you doin' here... all alone?" 

She swallowed hardly, visibly trembling at the sight of unknown man. It took her a few seconds to look him up and down to notice piercing blue eyes, reddish scar across his nose and an athlete, tall posture. 

_The type of a guy who could do horrible things to you._

"I... I'm looking for J", she said, calming her voice down to show no fear. 

The guy blinked, furrowing his forehead. "J?" 

"She probably means the scarred guy", deep voice was heard behind. The person - man - was at the door in no time. 

"Hey, I'm Mike. This guy over here is my best friend, Brett. Take care, he's a real pain in the ass", he laughed, putting his arm over the first guy, who now had a name. _Brett_.

"Haha, Mike. Ain't ya funny?" Brett elbowed him in his stomach, causing Mike to wince. "Anyway. Yeah, that scarred guy. With cheeks forming a Glasgow smile, ha?" 

She nodded, still tensing up but trying not to show any fright. These strangers seemed nice, bit flirty, but all in all, not that harmful. Or criminally. They were strangers to her, though. 

_J was a stranger too when you took him in._

_Shut up._

"Yes, that... sounds like him. Know where he is? I mean, if he's... here?" 

Brett smiled. "Yeah, he's inside. Not a big fan of daylight, is he? I suppose you're his little... how does he say? Dolly?" 

She felt as if the air was sucked out of her lungs. 

_He told them my nickname._

"Since when is his name J? I don't remember him telling us", Brett asked. Mike shrugged his shoulders. 

"Since ever perhaps?" she huffed in annoyance. 

"Oh oh, someone's grumpy", Brett smiled, showing his white teeth (J's ones were already coloured yellow due to his smoking habit and newly-formed uncare for personal hygiene). 

"Don't nerve yourself, beautiful. You'll get wrinkles early." 

"I just want to see him", she confessed tiredly. "It's urgent." 

"Oh, sure it is, _dolly_ ", Brett replied coquettishly. His hand reached for her face as he intended to stroke it. 

She avoided his touch, taking two steps back, eyes widened. Anger rose up in her. How dare he call her the same way J does? 

Brett leaned onto the door, repenting as his eyes darted over her body. 

"Aren't you shy girl, ha? You know, buddies should share. And _J_ didn't tell us he had such a lady waiting up for him at home." 

She prepared to tell him off when she noticed a pair of brown eyes staring at her from behind. Tall man walking forward, dirty green hair bouncing as he made his way across the room, his eyes never leaving hers.

She smiled against her own will. 

Brett smiled too, thinking it was for him. 

Until a very dark, harsh voice spoke. The first time she heard him to use that tone on anyone besides himself. 

"Stay away from my girl, Brett." 

Brett jumped, hand flying to his chest. He turned around to face J, laughing nervously as he waved the same hand to defend himself. 

"Sure thing, buddy", he replied. "I was just giving our lovely visitor a nice welcome, that's all." 

"I know exactly what you were doing, Brett. And I do not like that. Not. One. Bit", J growled, jaw clenching. 

He kept staring at Brett for a couple of seconds. She looked at J; his posture, his squinted eyes, his calm aggression as he claimed his title and respect silently. 

He belonged here. His place was in this world. 

_He's not yours anymore._

"Now go behind. Boss needs to see you", J said, as if nothing happened minutes ago.

Brett nodded quickly and hurried somewhere in the house. J looked back to give Mike and the other guys a threatening gaze before turning away to her, pushing the door and pointing upstairs. 

She obeyed and went inside, noticing the bad state of the room (and supposedly the rest of the house too): wooden floor that creaked as they walked, empty bottles of beer, leftovers scattered everywhere, stuffy air. 

It really was a bad place. 

J led her to a room on the second floor. As she stepped in, she saw as many papers as there could be, filling every piece of furniture in the room; it was consistent of a table, small wardrobe and unmade bed. 

Nothing fancy, but a whole lot saying about the role J had taken in the society he was already disgusted with to an extent. And that same society did despise someone like him.

"No one...", he started, clasping his hands together and turning to look at her as he leaned onto the table. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent, dolly. Remember that." 

She nodded slowly, pointing at the papers he hid behind his back. "What are those for?" 

J glanced behind, grinning. 

"Plans."

"Plans for what, J?" she spat back in fury. 

"Do you really wanna know, dolly?" J asked in low voice. His intention was to sound menacing, and God let her admit it, he was. He knew what he was doing. 

"Yes, I do." 

"Hm." 

She saw him move; his arms were now crossed, but he pulled himself on his feet. As it seemed, to stare at her better.

But she knew he was searching for something; he always did that when he sensed she would hide things and facts from him. He was always searching and she was almost always unreadable. That did frustrate him. That did fascinate him. 

She breathed out and closed her eyes. She felt her tears coming back and she did not want to face the possibility of the future where he won't be a part of. 

But she made her decision. 

"Those plans will make Gotham burn. We plan to burn it to the ground." 

She opened her eyes. The first lines of tears streamed down her cheeks. 

"No, J. No." 

He never took his eyes off her. His hard posture and cold demeanor could have scared her off, hurt her as she was right there, open to him with all her fears, doubts, dreams and love. 

His heart ached at the sight of her tears. But he didn't like this sentimentality. 

So he laughed shortly. 

"J, no!" she raised her voice, looking bewildered at his lack of care. 

"No?" he question-mocked and attempted to laugh even harder. 

"You don't see what you're doing to yourself, to me. What you did!" 

Her attack was sudden, but at least they were going somewhere. 

J stopped laughing, but hiccuped with few snickers. "What I did? Care to explain yourself, dolly?" 

"Did you kill that guy Tim? Over two and a half years ago? Did you rob the jewelry store today too?" she spat everything at once. 

J's face grew serious; even his scarred cheeks didn't seem to smile anymore. 

He was quiet for a rather long time for her to answer. It didn't matter though; she already knew it was him. There were too many coincidences. Too many mist occupying his past. Too many reasons for him to turn out this way mad. 

His eyes met with hers again. 

_Now it comes. Now he will ask me how do I know, where did I hear or find that from..._

"Do you believe it, dolly?"

 _What?_

"What are you saying?" 

"Do you believe it was me?" he whispered.

_I do._

"I do", she stuttered out. 

He nodded slowly, leaning back. His eyes still keyed with hers. The look that was written in them; empty. Shallow. 

"That's your answer then." 

_As if you were gone._

"J...", she pleaded, one of her hands reaching for him, but staying in mid air. 

He took notice of her little action. 

"Amazing. Like a joke. This is like a bad joke!" 

He pushed her hand away so swiftly, she staggered. 

"You were aware what I was doing. I promised you a good future, didn't I? Huh?" he replied harshly, with a smile creeping on his lips. "You didn't mind when I was stealing. All. For. You." 

"No, no, no! I didn't know you were a murderer! You killed a _person_ , J. A person!" 

He clapped and jumped in front of her. He put a hand of his on her cheek, his finger scratching gently till he reached her chin. Then he pulled her up and close. 

"Oh oh, but you weren't complaining about me being a criminal? A bit of take and steal is not undesirable, but I get rid off somebody who lied to me and I am a bad guy!" 

His hot breath on her face, curling up into her nostrils. His famous scent. His inner fire and her external coldness. Them being like two opposite magnets, working so much great together. 

"Really, dolly?" he squeezed harder. "Could've done better, you know." 

_Your dark eyes haunting mine. Your monstrous desires calling out to a monster in me._

"You...", she spoke softly, swallowing uneasily. "You were happy." 

He grinned at that, letting go of her face and backing away. 

"So?" 

She blinked, even more confused; even more hurt.

"So? _So?_ " she raised her voice. 

J shrugged his shoulders, as if it were no matter to him. Like she was no matter to him.

Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was already vanished from his scathed mind. 

"How can you be calm like that? How can you react like that?!" she yelled. 

"You're the one to admit your doubts about me", J said. "You're the one who doesn't accept, dolly." 

She took a step closer, but kept her distance far enough from him. 

Now she wasn't afraid anymore. Now she was very, very bitter. 

"Accept you? I did accept you! I love you!" she screamed. "I turned a blind eye to everything suspicious about you because I liked to see you happy. I took a risk of everything about you and I did not ask you! About anything, anyone..." 

J chuckled. "Questions wouldn't be much of a help, dolly. And it wouldn't change any little thing about me; you know that."

"J... I...", she started to speak, but the pain of her faint heart causing her to break the words before she'd dare say them. 

"What did I tell you from the beginning? I am a stranger. And what did you respond?" he asked harshly, moving towards her as she stood in place. 

"You are destroying yourself, J", she sobbed. 

"You called me enigma. That is your another answer." 

He looked at her. She returned the favor, although she wasn't sure if she saw him quite clearly due to her blurry vision. 

Maybe he was only a fallen angel. 

Maybe he was on the edge of being able to be saved.

"You don't know me. You never did", he murmured. 

"Now _that_ is a bad joke", she replied instantly. "I know the real parts of you, and the ones you project. And this..." 

"This? Go on", he nudged her. 

She cocked her head upwards. 

There it is. Beneath the dark sea; the spark. The spark of a hope she relied onto when she came here in first place. 

"This... This is a part of you too", she gave in. "But it could be the part of the past. Come back to me, J, please. Please." 

He didn't say anything, but rushed to her and pulled her in for a tight hug. She held his body, crying the tears she didn't want to shed for him. 

He cried too. Silently. Unnoticeably. 

But he cried. 

"I...", she said, breaking apart from the hug. "I may be damned, but I understand your reasons. I understand you wanted me to live better. I understand you wanted to get revenge for your scars. Because... Tim was your stepfather, wasn't he?" 

J nodded, looking down. If there was something he did not want her to see, that were his own tears. 

As he said; he hated sentimentality. He fought against it. 

She nodded too. If there was something she did want him to know, that was her understanding of him. 

As she always believed in goodness; she knew he could be merciful. 

She built her hands up his chest to his neck, holding it gently. He glanced at her, but kept his head low. 

"I will get out of this house now. You can either follow me or stay in here", she whispered as if there was somebody else to hear. "But if you do stay, then you will know you've gone way too deep into this." 

He was losing her. 

* * *

He opened the front door and let her through. She began to leave, praying he will be by her side on their way home. 

But he stood there, now insecure. 

If only she knew his plans besides those destructive ones. 

If only she didn't want to be the one who breaks the rope. 

She heard him breathing behind her back, she heard him sighing like he was a desperate man. 

_Maybe one last chance._

"I will wait at home till 3pm, J", she said, turning to him. "If you are late just a minute - one minute - you will never see me again." 

He kept staring at her, speechless and numb. His dark eyes looking through her. Like she was a ghost. 

_I might as well be to him._

She waved her head, closing her eyes. 

_I love you. And you love me. I know you do._

He didn't move, didn't say anything. She wasn't sure if he even acknowledged her standing there. 

_Don't be stupid enough to let me go._

"Please choose wisely, J. It's us who are at stake." 

Saying those threats were terrifying to her as she was afraid of abandonment. 

But if she was to say goodbye to him, it would be terrifying more. 

She turned her back to him again, praying it not to be the last time, and left him there, alone to decide. 

J still stood on the door, still looking after her as she was leaving. 

It took him only a few minutes to decide. 

And then he turned around and entered the house, closing the door both to her and himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit in delay, I know and I am sorry. There's put up pressure on me (mostly by myself) since I want to finish the first part till the end of April. That's the plan and I hope to execute it.  
> I have a good reason for this: exams I have to take online for both university and Russian (and my will to do only this series hehe). 
> 
> Anyway, stay well all and enjoy the rest of story!


	9. "You ran away - you're all the same"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back to Snuff by Slipknot! 
> 
> We're coming to an end as well.  
> (Hm, what's going to happen? 🤔)

She waited at home. Her stuff packed. Her lack of faith. 

It was 3pm. J was not there. 

_Come on, come on. Don't let me do this._

Tears she cried earlier this day were replaced by new ones. But now these hurt longer, burned longer, carved its way into her heart. 

They would stay there forever. 

As she knew this will be goodbye. 

The door opened. It was him. It was her J. 

She looked at the watch. 

3:01pm. 

No. It was not her J. Not anymore. 

He looked at her. She was crying. The stains on her pale face impaled his heart as well. 

The sight of her disappointment will stay in his mind forever. 

She looked at him. He wasn't crying. But his eyes were sad, something she'd never seen before. 

It felt as if they were standing in that small room for hours, days, months. But it was an illusion. 

Like almost everything in their lives. 

"It's late, J. Too late for us", she said, getting up from the bed. 

He said nothing. 

She nodded. It was okay; she knew it would turn out this way. 

Taking her bags in hands, she passed by him. He barely turned to watch after her; he had no right after all to do it. 

There was nothing he could say to make her stay. It would be no use anyway. 

She decided to leave him too. 

She stopped at the door. 

"Someday, somebody is going to hate your name", she said weakily. "Someday, some people are going to suffer because of your actions." 

He said nothing. 

"And I am not strong enough to deal with it." 

He heard the sound of door opening.

"Winners don't get happy endings, dolly", was all he said. Spoken harshly and without any trace of emotion. 

She didn't say anything. 

He only heard the sound of door closing as she went away from his life. 

Now he stayed alone in the apartment. 

J never noticed how quiet it can be. She took away her light, her liveness from it. And all that was existent, were his dark thoughts he tried to run from. 

But he gave into the moment. Nobody could have stopped him, could they? 

It was when she left the apartment, the street, the city - that the rage erupted out of him. 

He was destroying everything his hands landed on. 

Everything was meant to be gone. 

Everything was meant to burn.

The chaos he often craved, often loved was the result of his anger and brokenness at the end of the day. 

Night creeped in as he hated on himself and his actions. 

They took her away from him. With their big plans, perfect ideas. 

They took her away from him because they lured him. 

No. 

It was his fault. 

He gave them permission to lure him in. 

She told him. She told him not to gamble with the sharks. 

But he didn't listen. He left her alone before she did leave him.

For the first time in years, J was faced with his past he tried to forget, to reshape. 

For the first time in years, in the blackness of the room, surronded by silence that would make a man go insane, he screamed her name. 

Not her nickname. 

Not his _dolly_. 

He spoke her name. Loudly. 

It felt as iron on his tongue. It sounded new and coarse. Mystic. 

As if she were never there.

As if she were his own illusion. His own demon. His own Lilith. 

She was his salvation and he intended to give her the world. 

Start with Gotham, the city he hated with daring passion, and then end it with the world on his murderer's hands. 

He sat on the floor, leaned against the edge of the bed. Took a small box out of his pocket. Opened it. 

There it was. 

A nice, thin ring.

The one he planned to give her. To marry her. 

He told her he had plans for them, didn't he? 

But he didn't know he would have to compromise a part of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is the reason why the robbery of jewelry store was so important! 
> 
> Hope you liked it. 
> 
> The last chapter is coming soon! 
> 
> 💚💜


	10. "Angels lie to keep control"

There is a man sitting in the middle of a shattered room. 

It is dawning. TV is on, but it is muffled. Programmed pictures of people with happy faces and fulfilled lives are flying on the screen. 

There is a man sitting in the room as his heart is slowing its own beat, and his mind is faking its own disease. 

In one hand he holds the ring; it is sparkling enough to blind him - if only he still had his own eyes to look with. They are stranger's eyes now: where there was blue, or pink, now is crimson, or now is orange. 

There is only fire. Fireworks. Explosions. 

_Gotham will burn._

In other hand he clutches the switchblade of hers he still kept. It's one of her favourites - the colour. Reminds of royalty, as she said. 

He grins. Than it quickly fades.

_There is nothing royal in bleeding inside out, dolly._

He tosses the ring away; it lands in the shadowy corner. As it will stay there forever. 

She is gone. She is the past. 

_Or is she?_

He moves away from the bed, crawling to the naked wall. He cannot stand up as it pains him emotionally; so there is that one way out of the misery. To bow down like a tame animal he doesn't want to be. 

The wall is cold as he leans his head on it. 

Cold as her skin.

Cold as her soul. 

Cold as her voice. 

He scratches the rough surface of it. The tip of his switchblade sinks in. He picks his head up a bit, daring to pay much better attention to the weapon's doings. 

It leaves a trace. A visible one.

He pulls the switchblade aside and carves at the other side of the trace he has left. 

Firstly, he does not see what he's doing, nor he recognizes the form it takes. 

Are those drawnings? Lines? 

No. 

Those are words. Full sentences, actually. One written close to other. 

It reads: 

_SMILE AND THE DAY IS SAVED._

And then the trace falls lower, where the writing is no longer clean and neat. It's more manic now. 

It follows: 

_LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE TOWARDS THE AGONY._

Then it falls down at the bottom. It's not a sentence per se. It takes a form of one word at the time to formulate the meaning it holds. 

It ends with: 

_ONE. BAD. DAY._

* * *

There is a man standing in the darkened room. 

There is a man standing. 

There is a man. 

* * *

The glass is cracked under his fingers. 

Not a day ago, there were his fists. 

He was the one who broke it. He was the one who broke _her_. 

It's creating the small fragments in itself, but he does see two obscure holes staring back at him. He does know his eyes; they are very much his own mirror. 

Eyes tend to show what's lurking in the person's soul. 

And they were right: his mother, father, her. His eyes are more black than they would have ever been brown. 

The mirror is broken, but he manages to visualize his own face. Very young, very dry skin. 

Permanent scars as they form a smile. 

They are his friends, honestly. They do not let him down. 

They do not leave. 

As all the people above mentioned did. 

Now he smiles and the scars raise up a little. The way they stay in place reminds him of something. Something like... circus. 

As his life has been till now. One fun thing at the top of the tragic one, then another entertainment spinning on the up, crushing the sad things he buried underground. 

_Like a clown on the circus stage_ , says the male voice.

 _A clown at the birthday party_ , chuckles the female one, pleasant one. 

He waves his head. Their voices are not important anymore. They are the past. 

They belong to the past. 

But he keeps smiling, and his eyes close shut. 

"A clown? Clown wears a mask", he speaks out loud clearly. His right hand flies to one scar and caresses it. "Oh, and a smile too." 

He looks at his broken reflection once again.

"Look at that, who would say, I've got one!" 

Now he laughs. And laughs. 

Why wouldn't he? 

Because really... it really is the best medicine! 

* * *

Purple and green as the palette he was recognizable from. 

White as the mask of a ghost. Of a clown. Of a liar. 

Black as the eyes his soul was crowned with. 

Red as the blood he spilt. Both his and theirs. 

He looks at the creation now. 

This is it. 

This is complete. 

* * *

He walks out of the bathroom. 

_Whatever you do..._

It's already day. 

_... don't let people question you._

And he hates the sunlight. 

_Because... as long as you have fun..._

The music starts playing. He sways his hips and dances through the room. 

_...you don't have to explain yourself to anyone!_

* * *

J is dead.

He was the one who seemingly walked on the light; only he had always had that darkness hidden underneath.

And it took over him. 

It consumed him. 

It's made him the man he is today. 

The Joker.

~ THE END ~ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to all of you who stuck with me and supported me till the end! I am so grateful 😊
> 
> Last two chapters are shorter because I wanted to show J's mind, thinking and fall to madness (I hope it was successful try).
> 
> FOR THE SECOND PART:  
> I thought of giving our lovely female role a name. Considering this was mainly focused on J's transformation in the Joker, she wasn't given a name because, as Joker likes to say it, "I prefer my past to be multiple choice", and he is rather an unreliable narrator so there wasn't a need to stick a name to her. Second part, although named The Joker, is practically her story.  
> Do you agree with that? For me to give her a name?  
> (I already have a few I could use, but you can write some in the comments too if you'd like. I will choose from both mine and yours and then see what's the one best suited.)  
> Hope we'll meet each other for the second part! I promise a lot more of action in it!


End file.
